Sanctum Caeli
by HopeAndHeartache
Summary: She had comitted a crime, and was prepared to pay. She was waiting, counting the days, until they would push her into the lonely void of space. Only, it wasn't space, and she wasn't alone anymore. [Bellamy/OC/Murphy] [Disclaimer: I do not own The 100]
1. Flight of The Hundred and One

Chapter One: Flight of The Hundred and One

A girl sat on the floor of a small, barely lit grey room. Everything was that same shade between white and black; the walls, the floor and ceiling, the bench built into the wall that served as a cot. She was alone in the room, with no one to visit her and no one to care whether or not she got floated when she turned eighteen.

She glanced to her side, her light blue eyes locking onto a series of scratched-in tally marks that took up almost the entirety of the wall to her right. Counting them, though by now she knew the marks by heart, she worked out her time left. Seven months, one week, three days – that was when she was accepted or ejected. Picking up the worn-down screw from beside her, she carved another mark. Two days.

Her name was Isobel Sterling, aged seventeen and an unlikely candidate for readmission into the general population. She knew she was going to get floated – it was just a matter of time. Her skin was pale from lack of sunlight, though many people on The Ark were the same, and she had a smattering of light freckles on her cheeks and across her nose. Her eyes, framed with thick, dark lashes, were a light blue colour.

Waves of dark auburn hair fell all around her, hiding her face and creating a cloak of hair that fell down her back, stopping around her waist. Like most people, her clothing was old and showed signs of wear and constant repair. She wore a grey tank top with holes around the collar, under a faded green jersey hoodie. On her legs she wore faded black combat trousers, covered with empty pockets, and she had thick, off-white socks under scuffed black, lace-up ankle boots on her feet.

"Prisoner 98," a man's voice sounded from outside her cell. She looked up, tucking the worn screw into her sock and pushing her long, curling red hair out of her face. There was a guard looking into her cell through the hatch on the door. She didn't recognise him. "Stand facing the back wall with your hands raised. Comply and we will not be required to use force."

Standing, the redhead did as she was instructed, her muscles tensed and ready for a fight. A bright light shone into her cell and she narrowed her eyes slightly until they grew accustomed to it. The guard entered with two others, one holding a case, which he opened to reveal several metal cuffs. On instinct, Isobel took a step back, eyeing them cautiously.

"Hold out your right arm," one guard instructed. They spoke calmly, and so she responded in kind, continuing to comply. Resisting would only prolong the inevitable, and Isobel was tired of fighting a lost cause.

The cuff was cold, all metal, and pinched her arm when it was secured. Isobel frowned at the feeling, but did not flinch, and did not make a sound. All three guards edged around her carefully, clearly put-off by her silence and her placid behaviour.

"If you remain compliant, the rest of this should go just as smoothly," another guard explained and she looked up from her cuff sharply, her eyes narrowing at him. He shifted slightly.

"What's going on?" she asked, cutting straight to the point. "Am I being floated?"

"I am not at liberty to discuss the situation," the guard told her. He took her arm and led her outside. As soon as her four grey walls expanded into a series of tiered cells and unfamiliar faces, the girl took in the sight before her.

The Sky Box.

She had seen it only once, when she had been led to her cell, and it had been dark then, and deceptively void of human life. Some cells were full, other empty, but the halls were deserted. This time, it was teeming with life – all around her were guards and other juvenile prisoner, some going along with what they were being told, but many were fighting and yelling and trying to run, and most were just confused. The guards shot those who did not comply – tranquilisers.

Keeping quiet, the girl lowered her head and allowed her curls to obscure her face. She was led through the Sky Box, down from the top tier, where her cell was located, towards the exit, where more guards were waiting. By this point, many of the criminals led out were unconscious or heavily restrained. A few, like Isobel, were simply walking of their own volition.

She lost track of how long she was led through the endless, identical corridors of The Ark, but eventually she and the other juveniles were led onto a ship and strapped into secured seating. She was waved through and pointed towards a ladder, which she climbed. There were a few rows of chairs, and many of them were already filled, with some people simply strapped to the harnesses on the walls. Plenty of room for all of them – all one hundred.

As a guard sat her down and secured her harness, the redhead looked around, trying desperately to find a familiar face. While Isobel didn't know many people, she knew some, and half-hoped that they might have been in the Sky Box, and thus in this ship. However, when she realised that the most familiar face amongst the masses were some she only vaguely recognised, she felt suddenly afraid.

The guards cleared out, all prisoners now secure. A glance showed her that everyone was wearing the same metal cuff. The doors were sealed and with a jolt their ship detached from The Ark. A sick feeling of worry began to bloom in the girl's stomach – was this a mass floating? Had they simply decided to rid themselves of all their young delinquents by sending them out on a ship to run out of air, so they no longer had to waste rations on those they knew would be floated anyway?

Her thoughts distracted her, so she didn't noticed those that were drugged waking up. People began talking to each other, guessing at what was happening, and the most popular theory was a mass floating. Having already thought this, the fact that more people were thinking it made Isobel worry, and that worry turned to panic when the ship jolted.

"Hey," someone called out, only just loud enough to be heard. Isobel's head snapped up and she looked over to the voice, her eyes wide. It was a boy with sharp features and a friendly smile, his hair and eyes dark, his skin tanned, and goggles perched on his head. He looked familiar, but she couldn't quite place him.

"M-Me?" she frowned at her own wavering voice, but the boy's smile just turned more friendly at the sound. He nodded.

"Don't worry," he tried to comfort her. "They'd never just float us. I mean, look and me and you – it'd be a devastating loss to The Ark's gene pool if they just floated good looking people like us," he grinned. Isobel smiled slightly, relaxing a little more.

"Dude, shut up," snorted the boy next to him, an Asian teen with tidily combed black hair and warm brown eyes. He looked over to her and offered her a smile, which she shakily returned.

"He's just jealous," the other boy sniggered. "Though, if you keep smiling at him like that, I'll get pretty jealous, too."

"Quit flirting!" someone jeered at the goggles-wearing boy, who turned bright red at the statement. Clearly, he lost his nerve when he heard the yell, as he looked away from her and didn't try speaking to her again. He and his friend spoke amongst themselves and Isobel was left alone once more, her brain running over various scenarios.

She was drawn out of her own head, however, when ship jolted again, causing her to tense up, and the screens in the ship lit up, showing the face of Chancellor Jaha. Her eyebrows drew together in a frown as she looked at the face of the man who had killed so many, who so many hated, but she was forced to listen to what he was saying.

" _Prisoners of The Ark, hear me now_ ," he said clearly, though his face and voice seemed rather smug. " _You've been given a second chance, and as your Chancellor, it is my hope that you see this as not just a chance for you, but a chance for all of us, indeed for mankind itself._ "

"We going to Earth," gasped the girl strapped in beside her. Isobel glanced at her and was momentarily struck by how beautiful the girl's features were, and how similar they looked to someone else she knew. She was clutching the arms of her seat with a white-knuckled grip, clearly scared, and Isobel moved without thinking, placing her left hand over the girl's right.

Isobel said nothing, even as the brunette's head snapped up at the contact, and only squeezed the tanned hand as it shook. The girl released her grip on the seat and turned her hand palm-up, gripping Isobel's in return. There was comfort in the gesture for both of them, and the brunette and the redhead relaxed marginally.

" _We have no idea what is waiting for you down there. If the odds of survival were better, we would've sent others,_ " he continued. " _Frankly, we're sending you because your crimes have made you expendable._ "

"Your dad is a dick, Wells," yelled the boy sat on her other side. The redhead's eyebrow quirked and she looked around, quickly spotting the Chancellor's son strapped in beside Doctor Griffin's daughter. Others were laughing, but Wells simply rolled his eyes.

" _Those crimes will be forgiven, your records wiped clean,_ " he went on to say, getting the complete attention of everyone on board. The lights began flickering and the ship started to jolt. " _The drop site had been chosen carefully. Before the last war, Mount Weather was a military base built within a mountain. It was to be stocked with enough non-perishables to sustain three hundred people for up to two years._ "

"Spacewalk bandit strikes again," someone commented and the redhead looked up, spotting on dark-haired teen floating around the ship. He floated around, settling in front of Wells and mini-Griffin, saying something she couldn't hear.

By this point, the redhead tuned out what Jaha was saying, focusing instead on bracing herself against the turbulence, having to release the brunette's hand in order to grip her seat. Her mind was running a thousand miles per second. What would happen when they landed? Did they really expect one hundred teenage criminals to get along long enough for their little experiment to run its course? A worse thought hit her. Is this just pretence? The Earth was supposed to be uninhabitable for another hundred years.

Her eyes snapped open.

They really were just sending them to die.

With another sudden jolt, the ship's power seemed to shut off, with sparks flying everywhere. The Spacewalker, and the two idiots who decided to copy him, all landed hard with the sudden re-introduction of gravity, though the latter two seemed to have a worse landing. Spacewalker merely landed on top of Wells and Mini-Griffin.

After a few moments of free-falling, the ship seemed to slow itself – retrorockets, a part of her mind added helpfully – before it finally crashed to a stop, all systems shutting down with a whir of electronic failure. At first, everyone just sat there, strapped in, trying to come to terms with what just happened. If Jaha had been telling the truth, they had landed on Earth. Leaving the ship could mean freedom, or, more likely, painful death.

"Listen," said the Asian guy strapped to the wall. "No machine hum."

"Whoa," his friend replied, taking in the relative silence. "That's a first."

The quiet was almost deafening, the lack of the familiar sound of machinery was disconcerting, but everyone seemed to get over it quickly. In fact, most seemed happy, and took it as proof that they really had landed on Earth. Their harnesses released and almost no one hesitated before pushing themselves out of their seats.

Isobel stayed, silent and unmoving, and watched Mini-Griffin rush to the boys who had attempted to fly to the ground. Judging by her reaction, and that of the Spacewalker, they were both dead. Beside her, the brunette was slowly reaching to release her harness, clearly stunned by the sudden landing, but slowly recovering.

"The outer door is on the lower level," someone yelled as they moved to the ladder. "Let's go!"

"No," Mini-Griffin said commandingly, though her tone was tinged with fear, "We can't just open the doors."

"Hey, just back it up, guys," someone else called and the redhead sighed, realising it was time to get up. She glanced at the brunette as she unlatched herself and took the younger girl's mildly shaking hand again, offering her a brief smile.

"Take your time," she comforted. "It's all we've got down here."

Waiting for the girl to give some kind of response, and receiving a nod as the brunette took a deep breath and steadied her hands, Isobel then moved to the ladder, climbing down it just as Mini-Griffin confronted the guard that remained on the ship.

"The air could be toxic," she told him.

"If the air is toxic, we're all dead, anyway," he retorted. That was when Isobel recognised him, and her eyes widened slightly as she felt her heart beat a little faster.

"Bellamy?" called the brown-haired girl from the ladder, obviously having taken a moment and composed herself. She walked through the crowds towards him, ignoring the people around her.

"It's the girl they hid under the floorboards," someone said and Isobel tilted her head. She'd heard of this girl, the second-born child – illegal and unheard of in The Ark. The mother had been floated, and the underage child locked up in the Sky Box, simply for being born, ready to be floated as soon as she reached eighteen. What she didn't know was that Bellamy Blake was her brother.

"My God," the guard, Bellamy, smiled. "Look how big you are," he said before she hugged him, the older man holding her back just as tightly.

"What the hell are you wearing?" the brunette questioned angrily. "A guard's uniform?"

"I borrowed it to get on the dropship," he replied, cluing in everyone else that he wasn't actually a guard. "Someone has got to keep an eye on you."

"Where's your wristband?" Mini-Griffin questioned him, but his little sister was the one to speak.

"Do you mind?" she snapped. "I haven't seen my brother in a year."

"No one has a brother," one clueless boy butted in.

"That's Octavia Blake," a girl corrected him. "The girl they found hidden in the floor."

Octavia lunged at her, but her brother held her back. "Octavia, Octavia, no," he soothed her. "Let's give them something else to remember you by."

"Yeah?" she scoffed, backing down slightly. "Like what?"

"Like being the first person on the ground in one hundred years," he smiled at her, and she grinned back. The redhead, however, had a cynical mind. If they lived long enough, history wouldn't recognise this mission, and even if it did, it wouldn't recalled Octavia Blake. Historians would pick someone else, someone more influential or less controversial, to name as 'first on the ground'.

Isobel watched as Bellamy turned. He pulled the lever and the door opened, the artificially circulated oxygen quickly being sucked out of their pressurised ship, replaced by real air. Everyone felt a slight head rush, and they shielded their eyes from the sun. It was bright outside, and warm, and it smelled like nothing they had ever known. Hesitantly, Octavia stepped out of the ship and dropped her feet onto the ground. A few second passed before she grinned.

"We're back, bitches!"

Prompted by her yell, the teens all cheered and poured out of the ship, embracing the Earth. It was all greens and yellows and blues, and the redhead stood at the threshold of the dropship. Bellamy was out there, keeping an eye on his sister, and Isobel glanced quickly in his direction, hoping he wouldn't recognise her. She took a step outside, but almost instantly she recoiled and moved back, passing Mini-Griffin, Wells and Spacewalker on their way out, though the three barely paid her any attention.

The ship was safety, and it was familiar. There was nothing about Earth that seemed safe. It was endless air and new sights and freedom, but it seemed too good to be true. If there was one thing she knew, it was never to trust anything that seemed too perfect.

Teens ran around, laughing and shouting and chasing each other. Most were looking around, picking things up and running their hands over the trees and leaves. Some began playing with the fires set by their rough landing, though they were small and contained. All-in-all, everyone seemed happy and excited, but the redhead's anxiety grew. She was waiting for something to come along and snatch it all away.

As she twisted her fingers together, the weight on her wrist caught her attention and she held up her right arm, observing the wristband. It was grey, metal, and bulky, and the tightness of it had caused the entire area to throb painfully, but Isobel rotated her hand nonetheless, testing the mobility of her appendage with the new accessory. She had full movement and, as she tested the weight of the bracelet with a small grin, a potential built-in weapon should the need arise.

"Hey, you're not going out there?" someone asked and the redhead looked up from the wristband, spotting Wells stood by the door. Frowning slightly, she shook her head.

"I'm fine here," she told him, looking away. "What're _you_ doing back in here, anyway?"

"Wanted to check the dropship," he replied. "See what damage the rough landing might have caused," he paused a moment, looking her over. "You wanna give me a hand?"

"I don't know anything about mechanics," she informed him truthfully, though she stood up nonetheless.

"I could always use the company," Wells shrugged, a small smile forming over his lips. "Not many people here are willing to spend five minutes with me."

' _Well, it is your dad who locked all of us up, floated some peoples' parents, and shoved us all on a ship to die of radiation,'_ she thought bluntly. Saying nothing, the redhead followed him up the first ladder, then the second, and stood by the third as he climbed up and out onto the roof of the ship.

"Lots of panels missing," he called down to her. He soon reappeared, climbing down the ladder and making his way over to a control panel. Pressing a button, Wells frowned. "Dropship to Ark, do you read me?"

"This is where we should hear static, right?" the redhead asked sarcastically. "I told you, I suck at this, and even I know we have no communications. It's all fried. We're on our own."

"You seem pretty calm about it," Wells noticed, turning to face her. She shrugged.

"No point in panicking about something we can't control," she sighed. "If we die, we die. I expected to get floated when the guards came to my cell – at least I got to see Earth first."

"You eighteen?" he asked, looking her over.

"Not yet," she responded. "Still, people have been floated for stupid reasons, just to create more space on The Ark. Stands to reason they'd float us early if they already knew we'd fail our review." 

"What did you do?" he questioned, taking a slight step back, eyeing her slightly more closely than before. The redhead noticed and grinned.

"Worried?" she teased, flashing him a calming smile. Ignoring the fact that she didn't answer him, Wells dropped the question. There were plenty of murders out there, and she hadn't shown him any animosity.

"I recognise you, y'know," he said, frowning as he tried to place her. "I think I saw you around, but I never got your name."

"Makes sense," she hummed. "The Ark's big, but it's not infinite. We're all bound to cross paths, even if we travel in different circles."

"I'm Wells," he introduced, realising that she wasn't telling him her name. "Wells Jaha."

"I'm aware," she smiled. "I knew whose son you were, and some guy in the dropship called you by name before we landed."

"Yes, that," he sighed, recalling the comment about his dad. "I…I can't say I disagree with what he said, but he's still my dad."

"Can't pick family," she agreed. "I'm Isobel."

"A name at last," Wells chuckled and she smiled back, putting her hands in her pockets.

"You earned it," she teased.

"We should go tell someone about the systems," he suggested and she shrugged again.

"Go ahead," she nodded. "I'm just gonna stay here, where it's safe."

"You sure?" he asked, hesitant to leave her. "It's…It really is amazing out there, Isobel."

"I saw it," she agreed. "I'd rather stay, Wells."

"Suit yourself," Wells accepted, climbing back down the ladder. Rather than follow him, Isobel sat down in one of the chairs and sighed, noticing that he didn't close the hatch behind him and she could hear everything that was going on down there.

She heard Wells outside, taking to who she assumed was Mini-Griffin. The blonde sounded defensive and aggressive, and Wells merely took it. Rolling her eyes, Isobel stood from her chair and moved down the ladder, approaching the threshold of the dropship, but remaining out of sight as she observed what was going on.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" asked Wells, nodding to the map Mini-Griffin was drawing on. An awkward silence passed before he sighed. "Your father."

"Ah, cool, a map," another guy, Isobel recognised him instantly as the one who had tried to calm her down on the dropship, said as he came up behind Mini-Griffin. "They got a bar in this town? I'll buy you a beer," he flirted – badly.

"You mind?" Wells sneered, turning and grabbing the smaller teen and forcing him back. Isobel tensed, not wanting to see him hurt, but others stepped in before she could.

"Hey, hey, hey!" someone else yelled. "Hands off of him. He's with us," the boy defended, his group of big-stick wielding teens behind him. Much like the poor-flirt, Isobel found she only vaguely recognised him and his followers.

"Relax," Wells said, backing down. "We're just trying to figure out where we are."

"We're on the ground," Bellamy, standing with his sister, answered. Unable to help herself, Isobel stepped forwards slightly, coming more into view. "That not good enough for you?"

"We need to find Mount Weather," insisted Wells, approaching Bellamy. The others followed him, crowding behind him, some worried and some more menacingly. Isobel remained on the ship. "You heard my father's message. That has to be our first priority."

"Screw your father," Octavia scoffed. Wells looked stunned and she almost smirked. "What, you think you're in charge here? You and your little princess?"

"Do you think we care who's in charge?" Mini-Griffin interrupted. "We need to get to Mount Weather. Not because the Chancellor said so, but because the longer we wait, the hungrier we'll get and the harder this'll be." By this time, she was addressing everyone. "How long do you think we'll last without those supplies? We're looking at a twenty mile trek, okay? So if we want to get there before dark, we need to leave now."

"I got a better idea," Bellamy said, thoroughly unconvinced, "you two go find it for us. Let the privileged do the hard work for a change."

There was a shout of agreement from the teen criminals and, though Isobel thought it was a slightly amusing idea, she knew Mini-Griffin and Wells would likely die before returning back. They were as Bellamy had said – privileged – and so she doubted they could face whatever was out there. No one knew what the radiation had done to the place, after all.

"You're not listening," Wells said, sounding frustrated. "We all need to go."

The boy from before charged forwards, shoving Wells, who turned to face him quickly. "Look, everybody. The Chancellor of Earth," he mocked. Tensing, Isobel stepped down the gangway of the ship, her fingers clenching into fists.

"You think that's funny?" he challenged, and the other teen barrelled into him, knocking him down.

"Wells!" cried Mini-Griffin. Isobel's entire body tensed and she hesitated for a moment, jolting slightly towards the fight. Her eyes scanned the area – everyone else was on the ground and they were fine – before she looked towards Wells again.

"No, but that was," the other teen replied smugly as Wells stood, shifting his weight slightly and limping. Isobel's eyes narrowed at the movement – he'd hurt his leg in the fall. When she noticed no one moving in to help – in fact, the crowd seemed to be egging them on – she took a deep breath.

Not giving herself any time to reconsider, Isobel jumped down from the gangway and pushed her way through the crowd, shoving the teen in the back when she reached him. Shocked, he whirled around, though he seemed to falter slightly when he saw the short redhead who had pushed him. She scowled at him, her fists clenched.

"Back off."


	2. First to Dye

Chapter Two: First to Dye

"Back off," she ground out, standing between the violent teen and Wells.

"You're defending him?" he asked, shocked. Isobel stood her ground, even as the crowd eyed her with suspicion. She could feel them staring – she could see Bellamy, over the other teen's shoulder, but she forced herself to ignore him.

"He's hurt, it's not a fair fight," the redhead explained, leaving no room for argument. Unsure what to do, the other teen held up his fists, perhaps hoping to intimidate her.

"Just go," he said warningly. "I'd hate to hit a girl."

Her eyes narrowed and she scoffed, darting forwards and landing a right hook straight to his face. The teen reeled back slightly, but didn't fall, and she was almost impressed. He came back, fists swinging, and managed to catch her on the temple, and land a solid hit to her side, but Isobel gave him nothing. She kept throwing jabs at him, catching his sides and arms, wearing him down slowly as he continued with his wide, wild swings. She threw another hard right to his face, twisting her hand at the last moment and hitting him with her wristband, and he went down, cursing as he stood back up.

Before they could get into it again, someone swung down from the dropship and stood between them. Once her adrenaline-clouded vision clear, Isobel recognised him as 'Spacewalker', though she still didn't know his real name.

"You're fighting a girl," the guy said to the other teen, though he quickly turning to her with his hands up before turning back to the boy, "and, trust me, you're losing." The other teen was quiet, not wanting to fight both Isobel and this kid in front of him.

"Hey, Spacewalker," Octavia stepped forwards, successfully breaking the tension, "Rescue me next," she said, causing everyone to laugh slightly. Isobel rolled her eyes and walked over to Wells, getting to him at the same time as Mini-Griffin. Everyone else dispersed.

"You alright?" she asked him, but he was just looking at her with wide eyes.

"What? He's cute," she heard Octavia say and she looked up, seeing that Bellamy had joined his sister.

"He's a criminal," he corrected her.

"They're all criminals," she said, almost quietly as though it were some big secret.

"Look, O," Bellamy said, dragging her away, "I came down here to protect you."

They had moved far enough away that she couldn't hear them, and she then realised that she had zoned out on Wells. Quickly looking back at him, she noticed that his attention was on Mini-Griffin as she checked his ankle and she breathed a sigh of relief, though she could feel her cheeks burning.

"So, Mount Weather," Spacewalker mention as he walked up to them. "When do we leave?"

"Right now," Mini-Griffin said, standing. She turned back to Wells, "We'll be back tomorrow with food."

"How are the two of you gonna carry enough food for one hundred?" asked Wells, picking out the flaws in her plan. Considering it for a moment, Spacewalker turned and grabbed Goggle Boy and his friend, dragging them into the group. Goggles looked over at Isobel and grinned.

"Hello again, pretty-ful, err, pretty beautiful – beautiful," he stuttered with a tilt of his head, obviously thinking it came out smoother than it did. Isobel quirked a smile, finding it strangely endearing.

"Hi," she replied quietly.

"Four of us," Spacewalker corrected. "Can we go now?"

"Sounds like a party," announced Octavia as she strode over, "Make it five."

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?" asked Bellamy, following her. Isobel's eyes widened and she directed her gaze to the ground instantly.

"Going for a walk," she said in an obvious tone. "You coming, red?" It took Isobel a moment to realise she was addressing her, but by then the conversation had blown passed her.

"Hey," Mini-Griffin said, grabbing Spacewalker's wrist and looking at his wristband, "were you trying to take this off?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, "So?"

"So, this wristband transmits your vital signs to The Ark," she told him. "Take it off, and they'll think you're dead."

"Should I care?" he scoffed.

"Well, I don't know," the blonde replied sarcastically. "Do you want the people you love to think you're dead? Do you want them to follow you down here in two months? Because they won't if they think we're dying."

Borderline-obsessive staring aside, Isobel couldn't help but notice a strange look pass over Bellamy's face when Mini-Griffin said that. Unable to place it, she shrugged it off, thinking it wasn't overly important. Instead, she focused on Octavia and the sudden grip she had on the redhead's elbow. Raising an eyebrow, she looked to the brunette, but realised the younger Blake wasn't even looking at her.

"Okay," nodded Mini-Griffin, "Now, let's go."

The group starting moving out, though Octavia lingered, looking at her brother hopefully. He smiled slightly, saying "Go on," with a tilt of his head. Grinning, Octavia reached up and kissed his cheek before heading after the others, stopping only when she realised that Isobel, who she still had a grip on, wasn't following.

"Come on," she prompted, but the redhead only frowned.

"I never said I was going with you," she said quietly, shaking her elbow out of the brunette's grasp and turning back to the dropship. "You have plenty of people, anyway."

"Seriously?" Octavia gasped, glancing back and seeing the group leaving without her. "You…You have to come! That was really cool, what you did before."

"Yeah, you kicked Murphy's ass," chuckled Bellamy, but Isobel didn't turn to look at him. Still, she somehow knew Octavia wasn't referring to the fight and, when she looked at her, she saw a hope-filled light in Octavia's dark eyes.

"It'll be fun," the brunette sang, hoping to convince her.

"Don't care," she shrugged. "Not going."

With that, she walked back to the dropship, ignoring Octavia's huff, but knowing – hoping – the brunette would chose going after Mini-Griffin and the others instead of following her. The redhead did, however, glance back once at the brown-haired flirt and smiled a little, half-regretting not going with them. She hadn't quite made it inside the ship before she heard Wells calling out to her.

"Retreating back inside?" he asked from his spot on the ground. She stopped and turned to him, crossing her arms.

"What'd you expect?" she asked. "I'm not exactly gonna go charging through the forest."

"Never said you should," he smiled, struggling to get to his feet. With a sigh, Isobel walked over to him and supported some of his weight as he stood. "Thank you."

"No problem," she shrugged. "You alright to walk?"

"Should be fine," he nodded. "Just gotta go easy on my ankle."

"That guy was a jerk," she frowned. She honestly hadn't expected his hostility, considering his defence of the goggle-kid before, but she realised that she had no idea about his past with Wells – or, more likely, Wells' father. "He shouldn't have done that."

"He was pissed," Wells sighed, "and, knowing my dad, he had every right to be."

"You're not your dad," she insisted. "Everyone here needs to realise that, or someone's going to kill you."

"Thanks for that," he laughed and she rolled her eyes.

"It's the truth. No point in denying it. Best you can do is keep your head down and your mouth shut," Isobel smiled slightly.

"Yeah," he looked away for a moment before leaning a little closer to her, making sure no one else could hear. "Thanks for jumping in. You're kinda badass, you know that?"

"Not really," she waved him off. "What're you gonna do now, though? You missed the grand adventure to Mount Weather, and you're not gonna get far on that leg."

"I'm thinking of just looking around for some water," he told her. "You wanna help? It'd probably be more fun than hiding out in the dropship."

"Looking for water – sounds like a blast," she said sarcastically. Nudging her slightly, Wells only smiled and the pair headed off, searching as close as they could for any sign of drinkable water.

They ventured into the forest, Isobel staying close to Wells in case he hurt himself more, but they couldn't find any water. Instead, they began carrying back any dry wood they found, hoping to start a stock-pile of firewood. Isobel thought it was slightly insane, considering they were in the middle of a forest and their supply of wood was not likely to get low any time soon, but Wells insisted.

Besides, it gave her something to do that didn't involve avoiding Bellamy, sitting around the dropship, or thinking about the goggles-kid. His smile popped through her head again and she sighed – he really was kinda cute, especially when he was trying to cheer her up. Rolling her eyes at her own thoughts, Isobel tried to shift her focus back onto what she was doing.

"Oww," she grumbled, dropping the wood she was carrying on their pile by the dropship. She lifted her arm, frowning at the wristband and trying to manoeuvre it back to its previous position in the hopes that it would stop tugging.

"You okay?" asked Wells, moving over to her as quick as his leg would allow.

"Yeah, just this ugly piece of jewellery," she shrugged off. "Let's get back out there. You never know when the forest might vanish."

"Very funny," he said dryly. "I just think a large supply is better than foraging every time we need a fire."

"I'm sure you're right," nodded Isobel, "and I'm not just saying that to avoid you explaining to me, for the fourth time, why this is a good idea."

"Whatever," he snorted, throwing his branches on top of her own.

"Find any water yet?" asked a male voice as two teens approached them.

"No, not yet," Wells replied before turning, seeing the boy who had attacked him – Murphy, according to Bellamy – and one of his taller followers standing behind them. They seemed unthreatening, so far, but Isobel was still tense.

"We're still looking," she said, uncertain about the way Murphy was looking at Wells. He glanced at her, looking torn between aggression and something else.

"You can come with us, if you want," suggested Wells, as a sort of peace offering. He turned and paused, prompting Isobel to follow his line of sight. The writing carved into the side of the ship made her blood run cold. Clearly, peace was not an option.

 _FIRST SON, FIRST TO DYE_

"You know," Murphy began, making a show of scratching his nose with the hand that held his newly crafted knife, "my father, he begged for mercy in the airlock chamber when your father floated him."

Isobel closed her eyes for a moment, images flashing behind her eyelids, and she felt a sudden stirring of something – not pity, but understanding. Murphy was still a jerk, he was still harassing someone who was only guilty of being related to a murderer, but she had felt the hate, and knew that aggression came easier than anything else when faced with the source.

For a moment it seemed like Wells was just going to walk away. He limped passed Murphy and his friend, though when he bumped shoulders with the shorter teen, Isobel knew someone was going to happen. She followed the Chancellor's son quickly, know he wouldn't be up for a fair fight with his leg still injured.

"You spelled 'die' wrong, geniuses," Wells pointed out and Isobel grit her teeth, glancing back at the words for a moment. Bellamy walked passed them and her stomach flipped, but she focused on following Wells, doing her best to ignore the once-over Bellamy gave her.

"They're gonna hurt you," she told Wells when they were far enough away that she knew Murphy wouldn't hear her.

"Thanks for your vote of confidence," Wells muttered, not stopping. They walked through the forest, but this time they didn't stop to collect the fallen branches.

"I am confident that you'll fight back as best you can," Isobel assured him, "but they'll win."

"You seem pretty sure about that," he snapped, turning to look at her. They both stopped, staring at each other.

"Mini-Griffin, Spacewalk and I are the only ones who would try to stop him," she said, giving him the hard truth. "I'm the only one _here_ , and there's a lot more of them than I can handle. You're injured. I like you, Wells, but not enough to die for you. Check your pride and keep your head down, or they will kill you."

"Mini-Griffin?" he snorted, all seriousness falling from his face. "Spacewalker?"

"I…forget their names," she shrugged. "I never met them properly."

"Clarke," he told her, "and Finn, from what I heard. Anyone else?"

"Goggles?" she suggest, mentally reprimanding herself for seeming too eager as she tried to come up with a way to sound less desperate, "And what about his friend?"

"Not sure," Wells admitted. "Didn't really get to know the kids from other sections so well. I'm guessing you never really knew that other guy, the one with the knife."

"His name's Murphy," she smirked, glad to know something he didn't. "You know his friend, the taller one that didn't talk much?"

"Not sure," said Wells, shaking his head. "What about that guard guy, Bellamy Blake? You know him?"

She turned red instantly. "Why are we just stood here asking each other if we know people?" she asked quietly, hoping to change the subject.

"Okay, and what was that reaction all about?" he asked as Isobel walked ahead of him, further into the forest.

"What reaction?" she denied. "I didn't react."

"So, you know Blake, then," he stated. "How?"

"I grew up in the same section as him," she shrugged. "Saw him around. That's all."

"Alright," Wells sighed. "You don't wanna tell me."

"I just told you," she insisted.

"Sure you did," he said sarcastically. "Don't worry, I won't pry."

"…Thanks," she mumbled and the pair continued their quest for water in relative silence.

"It'll be dark soon," Wells noticed after about an hour of searching. "We should head back."

"Lead the way," she prompted, but Wells only smirked.

"Oh, no, no. After you," he bowed mockingly and Isobel returned it with a teasing smile as she nudged him on her way passed.

"Oops," she said innocently while Wells shook his head, unable to stop the grin on his face.

Twenty minutes later, they were back at camp. At Isobel's insistence, since Wells was so good at making 'friends', they were back in the dropship, trying to keep their minds off how hungry there were. Wells had gone back to playing with the wires behind one of the ship's many panels, and Isobel didn't care to ask him what he was doing.

She laid down on the ground close to him and closed her eyes, drifting off for a while. After wandering around all day – and not to mention that fight with Murphy, who was much better than she'd care to admit – she was exhausted. It seemed, however, that the universe was against her getting any sleep, as it felt like she'd barely gotten any rest before cheering from outside the ship woke her up.

"What the hell is that?" she grumbled, sitting up and seeing that Wells was asleep a short distance from her. She stood groggily and nudged his arm with her boot, waking him up.

"What's going on?" he mumbled, sitting up.

"That's what I'd like to know, too," Isobel frowned, waiting for him to wake up a little more. Soon enough, he was alert and he heard the cheering.

"What the hell?" he muttered, standing up and limping his way out of the ship, Isobel following closely behind.

It was already dark, and the criminals seemed to have taken their collected firewood and made a bonfire. They were all crowded around it, yelling encouragement, but it wasn't until Wells and Isobel had moved to the centre that they knew why. Murphy sat there with a girl, slipping a small piece of scrap from the ship under her wristband and prying it off. Remembering what Clarke had said earlier, Isobel clutched her own and bit her lip.

"Who's next?" Bellamy asked, stepping out from the crowd. Recalling his look from earlier, it wasn't difficult for Isobel to conclude that he was the one behind this.

"What the hell are you doing?" demanded Wells, limping towards Bellamy. He glanced back once as Bellamy stopped Murphy's friend from earlier from advancing on him, but noticed that Isobel hadn't followed, and was instead stood amongst the crowd behind him, her eyes turned away.

"We're liberating ourselves," Bellamy replied. "What does it look like?"

"It looks like you're trying to get us all killed," said Wells, but the look on Bellamy's face told him he couldn't convince him. Instead, he turned to the gathered criminals. "The communication system is dead. These wristbands are all we got. Take them off, and The Ark will think we're dying, that it's not safe for them to follow."

"That's the point, _Chancellor_ ," smirked Bellamy, getting laughs from a few people in the crowd. "We can take care of ourselves, _can't we_?" he said the last part louder, the roughness in his voice causing an involuntary shudder on Isobel's part.

A roar of agreement sounded from the crowd and Isobel bit her lip again, torn between standing with Wells and keeping back. She hadn't wanted to get caught in the middle of anything. Defending him before had been instinctive, protecting the injured, but she had warned him this time. He couldn't expect her to keep sticking her neck out for him.

"You think this is a game?" Wells demanded. "Those aren't just our friends and our parents up there. They're our farmers; our doctors; our engineers. I don't care what he tells you," he said to the crowd. "We won't survive here on our own and besides, if it really is safe, how could you not want the rest of our people to come down?"

"My people already are down," Bellamy insisted, drawing the masses back to his side. " _Those_ people locked my people up. _Those_ people killed my mother for the crime of having a second child. _Your father_ did that."

"My father didn't write the laws," insisted Wells.

"No," Bellamy mocked. "He enforced them, but not anymore. Not here. Here, there are no laws."

Isobel cringed away from the crowd as they roared again. Bellamy definitely had a gift for garnering public support. Everyone around her was siding with him, and that did not bode well for the Chancellor's son. Her words from earlier came back to her, but she was suddenly finding it difficult to stick to them. Surely, sticking up for him one last time wouldn't get her killed. Seriously injured, probably, but not killed.

"Dammit, Wells," she muttered under her breath.

"Here, we do whatever the hell we want!" announced Bellamy. " _Whenever_ the hell we want!" he added, more sounds of agreement meeting his words. "Now, you don't have to like it, Wells. You can ever try to stop it, or change it – kill me," he suggested. "You know why? Whatever the hell we want."

"Whatever the hell we want!" echoed Murphy, beginning a chant of those words throughout the crowd. Feeling uncomfortable, Isobel stepped out of the throng of people, standing behind Wells.

Wells looked around, seeing the crowd turned completely against him and knowing there was nothing to say that would sway them now. Having Isobel with him made him feel somewhat better – just the fact that someone had his back – and as he turned to face Bellamy again, his stare was challenging. He found, however, that it took a moment before Bellamy returning his look, as the older man's eyes seemed to be on Isobel.

Glancing behind him, he realised Isobel didn't noticing Bellamy's staring, as she was looking around the forest behind the crowd, as if she had noticed something no one else had. Her gaze them flew upwards and she smiled slightly. Wells turned, seeing that Bellamy was no longer staring at her, but meeting his eye smugly, before he forgot to care for a moment.

Water hit his head, and he knew that surviving would suddenly be that smallest bit easier than before.

"Rain," Isobel breathed in relief. The crowd was cheering the weather – seemingly impressed by anything this planet threw at them.

"We need to collect this," insisted Wells, turning back to Bellamy.

"Whatever the hell you want," he smirked.

The men exchanged looks – one defiant, the other smug – before Wells turned and limped away to find containers to collect the rainwater in. Isobel stood, her face upturned to the water, not even noticing his departure. Bellamy copied her and for a moment, everyone in the crowd simply stood, enjoying the feeling of the rain washing away the day's dust. When Isobel eventually looked back around her, she noticed Wells was gone.

"He headed back to the dropship," Bellamy told her, realising she was looking around for Wells. Her head snapped back towards him, but she said nothing. "I recognise you, y'know. You were the kid three doors down from me, in Section 17a. Remember? Your dad used to…He used to have you bring around the sewing once a month."

"Y-Yeah," she nodded quickly. "Your mother was good at it, and she didn't ask too much in return. She used to sew pink buttons on my clothes. She was nice."

"Yeah," he smiled, remembering his mother. Shaking his head, he looked back to Isobel, taking in how tense she seemed. "Listen –"

"I gotta go," she interrupted, turning suddenly and heading into the dropship to find Wells. Her breathing was heavy and she was pretty sure her face was completely red by this point. Once inside the dropship, she paused for a moment to collect herself. She was soaked by the rain, yet felt completely warm. A smile spread across her face for a moment before she shook it off.

"Isobel?" Wells called, spotting her by the door. He was juggling a few large containers. "Give me a hand, will you?"

"Yeah, sure," she nodded, hurrying forwards to take some of the containers from him. They moved in and out of the dropship quickly, setting out the open containers to collect the falling rain.

They collected a fair amount before the sky dried up and the rain ceased, but neither had the energy to drag the half-full tubs back inside. Leaving them for the time being, they looked around the camp, seeing that most people had either moved back into the dropship, or were setting themselves up on the ground or against trees, readying themselves for a night's sleep.

"Looks like everyone's had a tiring day," mused Isobel, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Despite her nap earlier, she was feeling the day catching up to her.

"C'mon," Wells nodded towards the trees, where people had already begun settling down. "It's getting too crowded inside."

"I _like_ inside, crowded or not," Isobel rejected, shaking her head. "I'll just sleep on the floor."

"Probably taken, too," he sighed. "Everyone wants the nice, dry ship."

"Myself included," she scoffed, crossing her arms.

"What about sleeping under the stars?" he continued, trying to tempt her. Isobel only rolled her eyes.

"We've been sleeping _amongst_ the stars since we were born," she sniggered. "I'll save you time, though. Pick a tree."

"Seriously?" he gaped. "That's it? No grand stand-off, no stubborn refusal?"

"That's it," she smiled. "I'm really not as stubborn as you seem to think I am, y'know. Besides, I've been going along with you all day. Why stop now?"

"Alright, then," he grinned, moving towards a tree – his limp all but gone – and settling himself down against it. Isobel joined him, leaning up against the trunk beside him and shifting around until she was comfortable. "Sleep well."

"You, too."

It wasn't too long before her sleep was interrupted, though it must have been a fair while, as most people were in a deep slumber by now. A hand was placed over her mouth to keep her from shouting and waking, or alerting, the others, and she jolted awake. Her wide eyes filled with confusion when she saw it was Bellamy waking her up, though he quickly stood and backed away from her.

"Don't make a sound," he warned quietly, his arm outstretched, a gun in his hand, trained on the also-awake-and-standing Wells. Her limbs were taut, ready for a fight, but the odds were against her, so she forced herself to relax.

"Are you okay?" she asked Wells as she stood. He nodded, but Bellamy was shoving him forwards before he could talk.

"Move," he grunted, giving Wells another push before gesturing with the gun for Isobel to follow. She trained her eyes on him as she walked past, fear for her life outweighing any kind of attraction she had to him.

They walked for a while, Wells leading the way, with Isobel trailing after him and Bellamy walking close behind her, his gun in hand should either of them prove uncooperative. Isobel glanced back a few times, but Bellamy wouldn't meet her eye, and instead had taken to putting his gun on her shoulder and nudging her to walk.

"That's far enough," he said suddenly, and the three of them stopped, Wells and Isobel turning to face Bellamy. They were well out of earshot of the dropship by this point. "I don't want to shoot you, Wells. Hell, I like you, but I do need them," he paused, pointing the gun upwards, referring to The Ark, "to think that you're dead."

"Why?" Wells demanded quickly, confusion and fear mixing in his eyes. "Why are you doing this? For real, not some crap about getting to do what you want to do." His eyes were wide, looking directly at Bellamy, but Isobel stared at the gun.

"I have my reasons," smirked Bellamy, lifting the gun slightly as he spoke. "I also have the gun. So I ask the questions – and the question is, why aren't you helping me? Your dad banished you, Wells, and yet here you are, still doing his bidding, following the rules. Aren't you tired of always doing what's expected of you? Stand up to him. Take off that wristband, and you'll be amazed at how good it feels."

The mini-monologue felt rehearsed, and, at times, Isobel could hear a slight salesman-pitch. It was the same one she'd heard the cooks use when plying their black market goods to first-time buyers, and she wondered for a moment if that was where Bellamy had picked it up from. Still, he had a point, and Isobel too was somewhat baffled about how Wells managed to be sent to Earth, yet was still obeying his father's every word.

"No," Wells rejected in no uncertain terms. "Never. Not gonna happen. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Yeah," nodded Bellamy, a small smile quirking at his mouth. "It is. What's your opinion on the matter, red?"

"She has a name," sneered Jaha Junior, stepped forward slightly as if to stand in front of her. Isobel placed her hand on his shoulder, the movement tracked by Bellamy's dark eyes, before they flicked back to her face.

"I'm with Wells, and Clarke," she told him. "We can't let The Ark think we're dying, no matter how bad they were to us."

"Then I'm sorry," he said with a frown, meeting her eye for a moment and sighing before his posture changed, and he resumed his confident stance. "I'm sorry it had to be this way," he continued, glancing around as he tucked his gun away in his waistband.

They had been followed.

Murphy was approaching them, knife drawn. Wells darted back, pulling Isobel with him. They turned to run, but there were more boys getting closer on all sides. Isobel yanked her arm out of Wells' grip and shoved him towards the hill as she turned and punched one of the ones approaching them. He went down, clearly not having expected the hit, but Isobel was grabbed from behind, her arms pulled behind her back.

She flailed, kicking up her legs and attempting to break the grip on her arms, but whoever had hold of her was strong. They turned in order to counter one of her more vicious tugs and she saw Bellamy, standing back and watching the scene play out, so she could only assume that it was Murphy who had grabbed her.

"No!" yelled Wells as he was wrestled to the ground by two others. "No, get off of me! No!"

"Get him down," hissed one of the boys as they struggled with him, dragging him to the ground.

"Put him down," said the other over the sound of Wells shouting. They grabbed his arm, the one with the wristband, and held it on a rock. One of the attackers knelt on his arm, so he couldn't retract it, as the boy Isobel had punched moved over and stuck his knife under the wristband, beginning to work it off.

"Don't do this!" cried Wells over and over.

"Stop it!" screamed Isobel, aiming her feet backwards to kick Murphy, but he was quicker than she had anticipated, and he managed to dodge most of her attempts.

"Cool it, red," he sniggered in her ear, pulling tighter on her arms with a wide smirk. He had managed to fold his own arms around hers, so he was holding her arms to his chest. "Don't worry, you're next."

"Don't you dare," she growled at him, twisting her arms in his hold and throwing her head back, feeling the back of her skull catch on his face – most likely his cheek, as it didn't feel like a nose. Stunned, Murphy, released her, and Isobel made a break for it, only to be grabbed around the waist and lifted off the ground. She pushed at the arms holding her, but they didn't budge.

"Is it really so hard to keep hold of her?" asked Bellamy as he maneuverer the girl in his arms so he was holding both of her arms down with his own, as well as keeping one arm around her waist, to stop her from wriggling as much. "Get her wristband off."

"Right," grunted Murphy, rubbing his cheek with his shoulder. "You've got one hell of a hard head," he muttered at her as he walked closer, grabbing the arm that had the wristband and holding it tightly under his own with his back turned to her. He then shoved his knife between her arm and her wristband with no preamble. Isobel hissed when she felt the blade cut slightly into her skin.

"Be careful," Bellamy warned, glaring at the back of Murphy's head, who only rolled his eyes, unseen.

"Stop it," she whimpered, jerking against Bellamy in an attempt to break free, but his grip on her was like a steel vice. He lowered his head slightly and she could feel his breath in her hair, against her ear.

"I'm sorry."


	3. A Little Chaos

Chapter Three: A Little Chaos

"When you asked me to hang out today, this isn't what I had in mind."

Isobel, sat cross-legged on the ground a short way from Wells, pulling a second pair of boots into her lap, tying the laces together. She looked over at her companion, who finished burying the second body, and he sighed. Wells dug his shovel into the ground and turned to her, picking up his jacket from beside her.

"It had to be done," he explained. "Thanks for sorting the clothes."

"Thanks for not making me dig graves," she countered, quieter, as she stared at the mounds of dirt. "…Do you know their names? One was Glenn, I think, but I don't know the other one."

"No," Wells replied, shaking his head. "I didn't know them."

"Me neither," she sighed, rubbing her arm. Wells frowned and crouched down, taking her wrist to look at the small cut and scabbed puncture wounds where her wristband used to be.

"This still hurting?" he asked, moving his thumb over it gently. Isobel shook her head and pulled her arm back.

"It's itchy more than anything," she shrugged. Wells looked at her arm a moment longer before glancing at her face, frowning at the bruise on her temple. It looked worse than it felt, she assured him, but she was in no hurry to get back on the other end of Murphy's fists, that was for sure.

He held out a hand to her and she took it, letting him help her up. The pair gathered the boots, shirts, trousers and jackets from the ground – taken from the bodies Wells had buried. Isobel took the shoes, slinging each pair over her shoulders by the laces, while Wells bundled up the clothes, though he paused with one of the jackets in his hand.

"We'll distribute them back at the dropship," Wells said, looking Isobel over quickly. "You want one of the jackets?"

"It's hot as hell down here, Wells," she smiled. She was still wearing the same clothes as she had when they landed – grey tank top, faded green jersey hoodie, faded black combat trousers, and thick, off-white socks under scuffed black, lace-up ankle boots.

"It gets cold at night, and that's a thin hoodie," he countered, handing over the smaller – but still too big for her – jacket. She offered him a small grin as she took it.

"Distribute by need, right?" she mused, tying the jacket around her waist by the arms. "There could be some poor sap back at the dropship with no jacket at all."

"They didn't help bury the dead, or collect firewood, or water," he retorted quickly, moving to take the boots from her shoulders, but she stepped back.

"I can carry some boots, Wells," she giggled at him. "Let's just get back, before we get cornered again."

"Yeah," he nodded, leading her back.

They walked the short distance from the make-shift graveyard back to the dropship. There was a couple making out in the undergrowth, completely uncaring of anyone who might see them, and Isobel guessed that there were plenty more doing the exact same thing in various other spots around camp – and that there were plenty doing more.

As they walked back into the camp, a group of boys ran by, chasing each other in a game of Capture the Flag, while others were setting up better shelter for themselves. It was somewhat chaotic, though the sight of people just being free and having fun did appeal to Isobel. Still, she had made her bed when she befriended Wells, and no one was sparing her any kind words.

One of the boys got tackled, the others clambering over each other in an attempt to grab the strips of red cloth tied at his hips. Once they had been grabbed, they all stood again, in hot pursuit of the one who had taken the first bit of cloth. They charged past Wells and Isobel, one of them catching her shoulder – she hoped accidentally – and nearly knocking her down.

"Hey!" she snarled, but they had already moved on.

"You okay?" asked Wells as she rubbed her shoulder, switching the boots off her shoulder so she was holding them by the laces. She sighed, nodding, and turned back.

They kept walked, moving through the camp and towards the dropship, as their make-shift shelter was on the other side of it. As expected, though, the pair couldn't pass through camp without someone wanting to start trouble with them – Wells, in particular. As they passed the dropship, which had a large amount of fabric – the parachute, she guessed – now covering the entrance, one of Bellamy's crew, Atom, stepped in their way.

"Hey, where'd you get the clothes?" he asked, getting the attention of a few others who were lingering around the ship.

"Buried the two kids who died in the landing," Wells replied curtly, not seeing the harm in telling him. Isobel, however, just wanted to keep moving.

"Smart," nodded Atom. He reached for the jacket, trousers and shirts in Wells' arms, but he moved back out of the way. "I'll take it from here. There's always a market for –"

"We share based on need," Wells interrupted, holding the bundle of clothes away from the grabby teen. "Just like back home."

"You still don't get it, do you, Chancellor?" questioned Bellamy as he walked out of the dropship, shirtless with his gun tucked into the front of his trousers. A girl Isobel didn't know trailed after him, and he kissed her before swatting her ass, sending her on her way. The redhead's eyes widened slightly before she looked away, cheeks pink, and met Wells' eye.

"Jerk," he muttered under his breath, and Isobel couldn't help the small smile that flitted across her mouth.

"This is home now," Bellamy continued, approaching them. "Your father's rules no longer apply." He took a shirt from Wells' bundle, the younger man darting forwards to stop him, but Atom shoved him back. "Oh, no, no, Atom, Atom – hold up," he said to his guard, who backed off instantly. "You want it back? Take it," he challenged.

The pair faced off for a moment, Bellamy smug while Wells was irritated. Isobel was keeping her eyes on Wells, both ready to stop him if he lunged for the older man, and also in an attempt to not openly stare at Bellamy's naked torso. Her pink cheeks flared red for a moment at that thought.

Seeming to give in, though also not happy about it, Wells threw the bundle of clothes behind him, allowing the rest of the teens present to scavenge them, which they did instantly. Someone reached up and grabbed for the boots Isobel was holding, shoving her shoulder in their attempt, and she yelped, feeling the laces burn across her shoulder.

"Hey, take it easy!" yelled Bellamy, scowling at the boy who had done it.

"Back away," barked Wells, physically shoving the boy, who still had the boots in hand. The second he was away from them, a tugging match broke out over the boots he held, while Isobel threw the other pair on the pile. "Is this what you want? Chaos?" snapped Wells as he pulled Isobel closer, glancing over her shoulder.

"I'm fine," she insisted quietly, stepped away from him and ducking her head under Bellamy's scrutiny.

"What's wrong with a little chaos?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

A frightened scream broke up their latest standoff and Bellamy – pulling on his new t-shirt – Wells, and Isobel all took off towards the source, quickly at first, but they slowed when they noticed the crowd. There were others there, watching, but more had been drawn over by the sound. Upon arriving at the small bonfire, they saw Murphy holding a girl over the fire. She was struggling to stay still, keeping her head back and away from the flames.

"Bellamy," called Murphy when he saw his leader. "Check it out. We want The Ark to think that the ground is killing us, right? Figure it'll look better if we suffer a little bit first."

"Let her go!" roared Wells, charging over and shoving Murphy away, letting the girl go. He panted, turning as Bellamy and Isobel moved closer. "You can stop this," he said to the 'leader' while Isobel crouched down next to Murphy's victim.

"You okay?" she asked, checking her over for injuries. She was bruised, but not burned.

"Stop this?" scoffed Bellamy, looking between Wells and Isobel. "I'm just getting started."

Murphy leapt up and punched Wells across the face, leaving the taller teen reeling back. He recovered quickly and delivered two hard blows in return, but Murphy – as Isobel could attest – was a better fighter than he looked, and he quickly bounced back and tackled Wells to the ground, straddling him as he threw punch after punch.

"Get off him!" cried Isobel, launching herself at Murphy and pushing him off Wells, the pair rolling around until she landed on top of him. She moved her hands to his wrists, holding down his arms and pressing all her weight against him, knowing he was physically stronger than her.

"Keep out of this, red!" he growled at her, bucking up his hips and knocking her off him. She landed on her shoulder and hissed – it was getting a beating today, that was certain. Murphy glanced at her a moment before decided that Wells was his target and he moved back to the other teen, who was slowly getting back up.

Isobel grit her teeth as she pushed herself off the ground, going after Murphy again, but this time she was grabbed around the waist and pulled backwards, her back meeting Bellamy's chest for the second time in forty eight hours. She struggled, pushing at his arms, but it offered the same result as last time – his grip was too strong.

"Don't get involved," he said in her ear, pulling her closer. She sneered, throwing her head back, but Bellamy avoided it and it only hit his shoulder.

By this point, Wells had managed to get the upper hand, and was straddling Murphy, landing three strong punches to his face. The teen went limp, his head still turned from the last hit, as Wells stood up and went to walk away. He saw Isobel being held back by Bellamy and scowled, though the older man just smirked back at him.

"Let go of me," she hissed and, surprisingly, he obeyed instantly.

"Don't you see you can't control this?" gasped Wells, raising his eyebrows and panting. Before Isobel could check on Wells, though, Murphy was up, knife in hand, and Bellamy was grabbing her wrist to keep her back.

"You're dead," uttered Murphy, blood smearing from his nose, and the grazes on his cheek and forehead. As he approached Wells, however, Bellamy intervened, stepping between the two.

"Wait," he said, holding his hands up to stop Murphy advancing. For a split second, Isobel felt some relief and she looked at Bellamy hopefully. That was squashed the moment he held out a shank and dropped it at Wells' feet. "Fair fight," he declared before moving out of the way, stepping back to Isobel.

"He's gonna kill him," she muttered, staring between the two and watching a frightened Wells pick up the knife, but Bellamy wasn't sure who she meant. She did, however, know better than to step in when the boys were armed.

Murphy smirked, his expression far too relaxed for someone about to enter into a death match, before took a swipe at his opponent, though Wells was able to jump back, dodging. With a small grin, Murphy took another swing, and Wells dodged once more. By this point, it was clear to everyone that Murphy was toying with him.

This time when Wells dodged, Murphy slipped around his side and punched him in the kidney, taking the shot when his defences were down. Wells grunted in pain and backed away, looking over his shoulder as all the playfulness drained from Murphy's face, replaced with rage.

"This is for my father!" he cried, charging at the taller teen and attempting to stab him, but Wells was able to push his arm up, holding it over their heads. He used that arm to then twist Murphy around until he had him, incapacitated, with a knife to his neck.

"Drop it!" shouted Wells, Murphy's expression changing to a mixture of shock and fear as he lost his upper hand.

"Wells!" another voice yelled. Everyone looked up, seeing Clarke and Finn returning to camp. "Let him go," she demanded when they were closer.

Wells hesitated for a moment and glanced over at Isobel, who nodded. He did as he was told, shoving Murphy to the ground. Angrily, the beaten teen whirled around in an attempt to continue the fight, to attack Wells, but Bellamy was able to intercept him, holding the vicious teen back.

"Hey! Enough, Murphy," he snapped, pushing him back slightly. Looking up, he spotted his sister, leaning on the Asian teen for support. "Octavia! Are you alright?"

"Yeah," she muttered in response, allowing her brother to take her from the other teen and support her.

"Where's the food?" he asked, looking over at Clarke. A flash of guilt ran over her face and Isobel looked around the returning group, realising one of them was missing.

"We didn't make it to Mount Weather," Finn confessed, sitting on a nearby log.

"What the hell happened out there?" demanded Bellamy, looking between the pair.

"We were attacked," Clarke told him. Isobel felt like someone had doused her with cold water – the planet was supposed to be void of life.

"Attacked?" frowned Wells. "By what?"

"Not what," Finn corrected. "Who. Turns out, when the last man from the ground died on The Ark, he wasn't the last grounder."

"It's true," Clarke confirmed, addressing all present. "Everything we thought we knew about the ground is wrong. There are people here; survivors. The good news is, that means we can survive. Radiation won't kill us."

"Yeah, the bad news is, the grounders will," Finn added, his tone a lot less optimistic.

"Where's the kid with the goggles?" asked Wells, realising what Isobel had noticed a moment ago.

"Jasper was hit," said Clarke, looking down. "They took him."

"Took him?" frowned Isobel. "Is he alive?"

"We heard him yell," Finn nodded, "but he was injured pretty bad. I don't know how much longer he'll survive."

"We have to assume he's alive until we know otherwise," Isobel said firmly, seeing Octavia breathe a sigh of relief. Clearly, she had been hoping someone else would agree with her.

"Where is your wristband?" asked Clarke, grabbing at Wells' wrist. Isobel nearly screamed – that was nowhere near as important as the new of grounders and attacks.

"Ask him," grunted Wells, nodding at Bellamy. Everyone turned to him, his sister included, and Clarke turned from worried to angry in a second.

"How many?" she demanded.

"Twenty five and counting," replied Murphy, his tone smug to match the smirk on his face. Isobel subconsciously rubbed the cut on her wrist, a move that didn't go unnoticed by Wells and Bellamy.

"You idiots," uttered Clarke. "Life support on The Ark is failing. That's why they brought us down here. They need to know the ground his survivable again, and we need their help against whoever is out there. If you take off your wristbands, you're not just killing them – you're killing _us_."

The crowd was silent, taking in her words. Isobel's eyes widened and she clutched her wrist, hoping that there were enough still intact to convince The Ark that they were safe. Before, she could have managed – they could have learnt survival skills, and most teens picked up a trade from their parents anyway. A few may have even mastered their skill, but even with novice talents, they would still have enough knowledge between them to survive.

They couldn't survive if there were people trying to kill them.

"We're stronger than you think," countered Bellamy suddenly. "Don't listen to her. She's one of the privileged. If they come down, she'll have it good. How many of you can say the same?" he asked the crowd, all of whom cheered in agreement. "We can take care of ourselves. That wristband on your arm? It makes you a prisoner. We are not prisoners anymore!" More cheering ensued and Isobel shook her head – he was feeding them exactly what they wanted to hear, and even she thought it sounded good. "They say they'll forgive your crimes. I say you're not criminals! You're fighters, survivors! The grounders should worry about us!"

The roaring crowd told them what they needed to know – Bellamy had won them over, and they would listen to him over Clarke. It was unsurprising, since his first point was true. She wasn't _truly_ one of them – she had been raised in privilege, while most of the others had one or both of their parents floated for menial crimes and had to work and scrounge to survive, only to be locked up and banished to a planet most thought to be uninhabitable.

Still, even if he had a point, Bellamy was going to get them all killed this way.

"Hey, you know where Clarke went?" asked Wells as he approached her. She looked around briefly before shaking her head.

"Didn't see," she replied. "Honestly, after that little speech, I'm not surprised she left."

"She's gonna go after Jasper," said the boy, sighing. "I'm going with her this time."

"You sure?" questioned Isobel, biting her lip as she and Wells walked away from the crowd. "You don't really seem to be her favourite person."

"…I'm not," he shrugged, "but I'm going anyway. I have to protect her, especially since we don't know what's out there."

"Oh, I get it now," smiled Isobel, turning to him with a raised eyebrow. "You love her."

"…And you have the biggest crush ever on Bellamy," he shot back. Isobel looked around for a moment to see if anyone heard him, but there was no one near them. Looking back at Wells, she smirked.

"Okay, I guess that was obvious," she sighed. "At least I'm not lovesick enough to follow him around like a puppy. I think Atom might actually idolise him."

"And Murphy obeys him like his personal bitch," Wells sniggered, but Isobel only frowned, reaching up and turning his face between her hands. "I'm fine."

"You're better than he is," she allowed, "but Murphy can throw one hell of a punch. I would know," she half-grinned, rubbing the bruise on her temple from their fight the previous day.

"You jumped in again," he noted, the pair continuing to walk. "Why do you keep coming to my rescue?"

"You've got such a pretty face, Wells," she laughed, "how can I resist?"

"Very funny," grinned Wells as they got to their make-shift camp. He dug around in his stuff, all of it scavenged from the dropship the day before, and got his backpack – made of seatbelts and insulation – and the folded up section of parachute, the part not used to cover the dropship entrance, and shoved it in the bag.

"Did I ever tell you how ingenious that thing is?" she asked, pointing to his pack as she sat down on her bedroll – really just some padding she had taken from the seats in the dropship.

"Only once or twice," smirked Wells, hoisting it onto his back. He winced slightly when the fabric of his jacket brushed against a cut on his arm and Isobel was on her feet in seconds.

"Did he get you?" she asked with a frown, pulling his arm towards her. Wells tried to pull back, but she didn't let him. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"It's a scratch," he said defensively. "I'm fine, Isobel."

"…I'm coming with you," the redhead decided, rummaging through her own things. "No one else will bother looking out for you out there."

"And you will?" he scoffed. "You're good with your firsts, Isobel, but…"

"What?" she snapped when he cut himself off, staring at the object she had in her hands. Isobel looked down and rolled her eyes, holding it out for him to inspect.

"When…When did you make this?" he asked slowly, taking the weapon between his hands. It wasn't overly large – around as long as her forearm – and looked to be made from a thin metal pipe. She had filed down the end until it was a sharp point, and then sliced sharp grooves into the pipe, facing towards the grip, until about halfway down, with the end wrapped in insulation to allow a comfortable grip.

"While you were making your pack," she replied, snatching it back from him and tucking it into her belt. It was designed to stab deep and, once in flesh, thanks to the grooves, it wouldn't come back out without causing even more damage. It was meant to hook and tear.

" _This_ is what you were making?" he realised, jaw dropped.

"What did you _think_ I was doing with the metal pipe?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, and Wells shrugged. Clearly, he hadn't given it too much thought.

"We…didn't even know about the grounders until Clarke got back," he stuttered, looking into Isobel's eyes and seeing a hint of a detached coldness that he didn't expect to find there.

"You've been attacked three times now," she told him calmly, "and I was dragged into all of your fights. My fault, admittedly, but it's proven that this camp is far from safe. There are murderers and thieves, and who knows what else, all around us. I needed a weapon."

"That _thing_ is more than just a _weapon_ ," he snapped at her, pointing at it. "It's torture! Why not just make a knife?"

"You don't know me very well, Wells," she sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I can't really blame you, either, since you were raised in privilege."

"Now you sound like Bellamy."

"Maybe Bellamy's right about something!" she yelled back. "If I made a knife and stabbed anyone who attacked me, then a few people would be put off and I would be a little safer. I use this," she pulled out the pipe, "and _no one_ is going to cross me again. A little torture goes a long way."

"It's inhumane," he muttered, seeing her eyes dull, but her voice was steady and quiet.

"So is sucking living people out of an airlock," she said, voice blunt but with no scorn or judgement in it. Then, it was as though she just realised what she said and her eyes snapped back towards him, "…but it was a great deterrent, no?"

"You said we're surrounded by murderers and thieves," Wells recalled, meeting her eye with suspicion. "What are you?"

"I could ask you the same," she cut back, glaring.

"I damaged the Eden Tree and got locked up on purpose," he replied, completely truthful, and Isobel tensed.

"Why?" she asked quietly, all hostility draining from her.

"Because I heard that everyone in the Sky Box was being sent to Earth, and I couldn't…"

"You couldn't let Clarke go alone," she sighed, closing her eyes.

"What about you?" he questioned, the suspicion lessening, but not dissipating entirely. Isobel was quiet and he shifted, uncomfortably, as a hundred possibilities screamed through his mind, each worse than the last. Her eyes clouded and he could almost see images piecing together in the blue irises and, not for the first time, he wanted to know every secret hidden behind her gaze.

"…It's nothing that concerns you," she replied ambiguously, her narrowed eyes warning him against continuing the conversation.

"…Let's go find Clarke."

With the matter settled, or at least put to rest, Isobel followed Wells around the camp, looking for Clarke. They eventually made it to the dropship, where they had been directed after asking around. Isobel saw the Asian kid waiting by the hatch and assumed that Clarke couldn't be too far.

"Hey," she called, getting his attention, "Is Clarke in here?"

"Up there," he gestured to the hatch. "She's getting supplies."

"I'll be back," said Wells, climbing up to join her. Isobel stayed with the other kid.

"What's your name?" she asked him, raising an eyebrow. He looked at her for a moment, unsure, before shaking his head of his thoughts.

"Uhh, Monty," he told her. "My name's Monty."

"Isobel," she replied, offering him a brief smile. He returned it, though his was more troubled. "The missing kid, Jasper. He's your friend, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Monty nodded. "We grew up together on Farm Station. What about you? You know Wells?"

"We met yesterday," she told him, shaking her head. "I grew up on Factory Station; didn't really have any friends."

"Seriously?" he scoffed, looking her over. She grinned back, rolling her eyes.

"Is that so hard to believe?" she asked, not giving him time to answer. "So, don't take this the wrong way, but…do you think Jasper could have survived the attack? How bad was it?"

"A, uh, spear through his chest," Monty told her, wincing at the memory. "He went down hard, and we all thought he was dead, but…they moved him, and he was screaming."

"Screaming is good," Isobel informed him confidently. "If he's awake enough to be aware of the pain, he could pull through."

"How can you be sure?" he asked, frowning.

"It's not your ankle, Wells," said Clarke, climbing down from the hatch and saving Isobel from having to answer. "It's you."

"You came back for reinforcements," Wells tried to convince her. "I'm gonna help."

"Clarke, he's right," Monty offered his opinion. "We need him. So far no one else has volunteered."

"I'm in, if it helps," Isobel spoke up, looking between Clarke and Monty. "He's one of us – if there's any chance he's alive, we need to protect our own. Besides, he tried to help me on the dropship. The least I can do is return the favour."

"It does help, thanks," nodded Clarke, looking a little relieved. "I'm sorry, Monty, but you're not going, either," she added to the other teen, who shot forwards.

"Like hell I'm not," he declared vehemently. "Jasper's my best friend."

"You're too important," Clarke told him with a frown. "You were raised on farm station and recruited by engineering."

"So?" he demanded.

"So; food and communication," the blonde insisted.

"She's right, Monty," agreed Isobel. "Your brain will probably be the only thing keeping us alive in the end."

"You figure out how to talk to The Ark," Clarke told him, glad she was getting some support on the matter, "and we'll bring back Jasper." She turned, going to leave the ship, when Finn walked in. "Hey, you ready?"

"I'm not going anywhere," he rejected, "and neither should any of you. That spear was thrown with pinpoint accuracy from three hundred feet."

"So what, we let Jasper die?" asked Monty, his voice disbelieving.

"That's not gonna happen," Clarke assured him before turning to Finn with a frown. "Spacewalker? What a joke. You think you're such an adventurer. You're really just a coward."

"It's not an adventure, Clarke, it's a suicide mission," he said imploringly. She only shook her head at him and left, Isobel following behind her.

"What convinced you to come?" she asked the redhead, glancing back at her.

"I really _do_ want to help Jasper, but…Honestly, trekking off into the woods doesn't sound all that great," she shrugged. "It was Wells, mostly."

"Yeah, you two seem to be attached at the hip," she said scornfully and Isobel rolled her eyes.

"I'm looking out for him," she informed the blonde. "He's really, _really_ bad at laying low, and even worse at making friends."

"He seemed to manage with you," Clarke noted, raising an eyebrow, and Isobel smirked at her.

"I'm a sucker for damsels in distress, I guess," she shrugged, actually getting a short laugh out of the other teen. Wells, who had just caught up, rolled his eyes at her description of him.

"Not funny," he muttered to her. The second Clarke heard his voice, all humour disappeared from her face.

"What happened to Octavia?" Isobel asked, elaborating when she saw Clarke turn to her in confusion. "Her leg. Monty was helping her walk when you guys came back."

"There was a creature in the water," Clarke explained. "Something dangerous, with teeth. It bit her, and tried to drag her under."

"Sounds like she made a lucky escape," the redhead mutter, Clarke humming in agreement.

"More like a timely rescue," the blonde corrected.

"You could have been killed," she heard Bellamy say from ahead of them as he patched up Octavia's leg.

"She would have been if Jasper didn't jump in to pull her out," Clarke told him firmly, stopping.

"How's the leg?" Isobel asked, looked down at the injury with concern. Octavia shrugged a little.

"I'll live," she replied blankly. "Wish you could've been there, though. I'll bet you would've kick that monster's ass."

"Nah," Isobel smirked slightly. "I'd probably have just hurled abuse at it from the safety of dry land. In fact, maybe I'll do just that when we get to the river."

"You guys leaving?" asked Octavia, moving to stand. "I'm coming, too."

"No, no," stated Bellamy, pushing her back down. "No way. Not again."

"He's right," agreed Clarke. "Your leg's just gonna slow us down," she added, turning to the older Blake. "I'm here for _you_."

"Clarke, what are you doing?" asked Wells, slightly stunned by her choice.

"I hear you have a gun," she continued, ignoring him. Bellamy lifted his shirt, revealing the weapon, and Isobel looked away before she got distracted by his abs. She caught Octavia's eye, who quirked an eyebrow at her. "Good," nodded Clarke, going to walk away. "Follow me."

"And why would I do that?" he asked, not moving as Clarke, Isobel and Wells walked past him.

"Because you want them to follow you, and right now, they're thinking only one of us is scared," Clarke challenged. The pair stared each other down for a second before Clarke led the other two past him. Bellamy seemed to realise quickly that she was right.

"Murphy," he nodded to the aforementioned teen, who was stood watching the exchange. "Come with me."

"Oh, joy," Isobel muttered, crossing her arms as Murphy smirked at her and Bellamy pulled on his jacket.

"Atom?" Bellamy continued, looking to another of his lackeys. "My sister doesn't leave this camp. Is that clear?"

"I don't need a babysitter," Octavia told him, sounding annoyed as she tightened the wrap around her leg. Her brother turned to Atom, leaning closer so the teen knew how serious he was.

"Anybody touches her, they answer to me," he said, acting as though he couldn't hear her complaints. Atom nodded once and Bellamy did the same. "Let's go."

"Rest up," Isobel said to Octavia with a small smile. "You heal up quick, and you'll get to come on the next mystery tour."

"Right," Octavia scoffed, rolling her eyes. "How about I just come on _this_ one?"

"You're staying here," said Atom, dragging Octavia away when she tried to follow them. Isobel shook her head in amusement before she hurried her steps to walk with Clarke and Wells, not wanting to be near Murphy or Bellamy, though for two completely different reasons.

"Those guys aren't just bullies, Clarke," Wells said in warning, looking back at the boys following them, though his eyes flickered to Isobel, too. "They're dangerous criminals."

"I'm counting on it," Clarke stated. "Your new friend doesn't exactly seem harmless, either."

"My new…?" he trailed off, knowing Isobel could hear them, and the redhead scoffed.

"I think he's realising that," she said to the blonde, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, the more ruthless we are, the better our chances. We're up against people who can spear someone through the chest without being seen, with no hesitation or remorse. You think we can afford to play nice?"

"Where is this coming from?" he asked her, frowning. She had seemed so nice only hours ago.

"I've been like this the whole time, Wells," she told him. "You just didn't notice, I guess. You shrugged it off, since it wasn't directed at you. We need to kill the grounders before they kill us, and being _dangerous criminals_ is our only advantage."

"This is a rescue mission," Wells reminded her. Isobel locked eyes with him, but didn't stop walking.

"It's also survival," she said bluntly. "We find Jasper, and kill anyone who gets in our way. Any objections, Clarke?"

"She's right," she blonde agreed. "If you don't have the stomach for it, then maybe you should go back to the dropship."


	4. Team Jasper

Chapter Four: Team Jasper

" _If you don't have the stomach for it, then maybe you should go back to the dropship."_

Clarke's words hung in the air.

Wells said nothing as they continued walking, their pace fast. Clarke led the way, pushing through the trees, while Wells followed her as close as he could without her snapping at him. Isobel kept watch on the trees around them, paranoia convincing her that they were surrounded at all times. Bellamy and Murphy seemed to be the only ones that lack drive, as they were barely keeping up at times. Currently, they were walking parallel to Clarke, a few trees away.

"Hey, hold up," called Bellamy, glancing over. He had taken to keeping his gun in his hand, the only sign that he took the grounders as seriously as the rest of them. "What's the rush? You don't survive a spear through the heart."

"Put the gun away, Bellamy," warned Wells, rounding on him, but Murphy was quick to push him away.

"Well, why don't you do something about it, huh?" he challenged. Frustratingly enough, they stopped walking. Isobel stepped up beside Wells, glaring at Murphy, her hand resting on the weapon tucked into the back of her belt.

"Jasper screamed when they moved him," Clarke interrupted them, stopping the fight before it began. "If the spear struck his heart, he'd have died instantly."

"Screaming means he's aware enough to feel the pain," Isobel continued. "He probably went into shock at first, but was brought out of it when they moved him. We need to get to him before the blood loss or shock kills him. It means we need to _move_ , now."

"It doesn't mean we have time to waste," agreed Clarke, turning to keep walking, but Bellamy grabbed her arm.

"As soon as you take this wristband off, we can go," he told her threateningly and she glared, pulling her arm away from him.

"The only way the Ark is gonna think I'm dead is if I'm dead," she retorted angrily. "Got it?"

"Brave, princess," smirked Bellamy.

"Hey, why don't you find your own nickname?" said another voice. They looked up, seeing Finn coming towards them, shooting eye-daggers at Bellamy. Isobel sighed, exchanging a look with Clarke.

"Just what we need," she muttered, letting go of her pipe. "More testosterone."

"You call this a rescue party?" Finn continued, walking to them. "Got to split up, cover more ground. Clarke, come with me," he beckoned, the blonde girl walking with him. The remaining four watched them for a moment before Bellamy and Murphy began walking. Shaking her head, Isobel grabbed Murphy by the elbow.

"I don't think so," she said firmly. "If we're splitting up, you two aren't going together."

"You can't be serious," Wells frowned, looking between her and the other men.

"Very," Isobel said, her voice clipped. "You pair up with Bellamy, and I'll stick with Murphy. Try not to get punched this time," she added to Wells, getting a snort of laughter from Murphy and a smirk from Bellamy. Ignoring both, she pulled Murphy along with her as she continued walking.

"Couldn't wait to get me alone, huh, red?" he mused with a grin, pulling his arm out of her grip but continuing to walk with her.

"You caught me," she replied sarcastically, keeping her eyes trained on Clarke and Finn, so she knew where to go. She understood that he wanted her away from Bellamy and Murphy, but Mini-Griffin and Spacewalker were the only ones who knew where they were going.

"Nice bruise," he continued, glancing at her temple. She turned to glare at him, but was confronted with a cheeky grin instead of a smug one. The hostility dropped a peg, but she didn't relax.

"I could say the same," she retorted, pointing at his face, which was turning into one big bruise. "Where'd you learnt to fight, anyway?"

"Just around," he shrugged. "Doesn't take a genius to figure out how to throw a punch."

"You're good, and a hard hitter," she muttered, not noticing the look of pride cross his face at the compliment.

"You're not too bad yourself," he replied, glancing at her when she snorted.

"Not too bad?" she grinned up at him. "I kicked your ass."

Murphy looked ahead of them, seeing that Clarke and Finn where almost out of sight by now, and then looked behind them, where Bellamy and Wells were absent, having taken a slightly different route. Smirking when he'd confirmed to himself that they were the only ones around, Murphy turned on her and grabbed her by her biceps, shoving her up against a tree with enough power to knock the wind out of her.

"W-What the hell are you doing?" she gasped, feeling the bark of the tree dig into her back.

"What if I _let you_ win?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Isobel looked up at him sharply. "I let you go when you knocked me off the Chancellor earlier. What makes you think I didn't do the same yesterday?"

"One reason," she scowled, going completely still. Murphy looked down at her curiously. "You're not that smart."

With that said, she lifted her leg sharply, angling her knee higher to catch him in the stomach rather than the groin. She needed him winded, not out of commission. Murphy released her with a loud groan, clutching his middle as Isobel stepped away from him. She watched him as he knelt, trying to gather his bearings.

"How the hell does someone so tiny manage to pack a hit like that?" he gasped, straightening up with rubbing a hand on his stomach. "Seriously, you're like 5 feet tall and probably only weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet."

"Firstly, I'm 5'4"," she scowled, "and I'm not that tiny."

"Whatever you say, red," he huffed, half-laughing, as he shook his head. "Maybe I should stop getting on your bad side."

"I don't have a bad side, I'm just easily annoyed," she threw back with a smirk and he chuckled.

"Same here, I guess," Murphy admitted.

"So, we should stop annoying each other?" Isobel suggested. "We'd probably have half the bruises."

"Yeah, but where would the fun in that be?" he asked. "I'll deny it if you tell anyone, but you're probably the best challenge I've had in a while. You're quick on your feet."

"And you're strong, so I guess that makes us pretty evenly matched," she mused. "Now, Wells – he's strong and fast. Hell, he beat your ass into the ground."

"Did not," Murphy scoffed, scowling at her. "I could've beaten him."

"If he had less of a conscience, and Clarke was two minutes later, you'd be buried with the others right now," she said bluntly, only causing Murphy to snarl at her.

"You wouldn't defend him if you knew what he did," he growled at her, advancing quickly and backing her into the same tree as before. Isobel looked up at him, frowning.

"He didn't do _anything_ ," she said calmly. "Wells isn't his father."

"I know!" Murphy roared, slamming his open palms against the tree trunk on either side of her head. He sighed heavily and dropped his head, shaking it slightly. "I know he isn't, but his kind – the kids raised with no worries and all their needs met – they just ignored the injustice in floating people for trying to survive."

"Murphy," she started, placing a hand on his shoulder, but words failed her.

"That's all my father was doing; trying to survive," he said, still looking down and not meeting her eye. "That's it."

"It's not fair," she agreed.

"What the hell do you know about fair?" he sneered, his head snapping up as he dropped his arms, but remained standing close to her. "No one even knows where you _came from_. I checked. Atom, Mbege, Roma – _no one_ knows you. Who the hell _are_ you?"

He was shouting by now, leaning closer, his clenched fists rising. Clearly, speaking about his father had triggered some rage-filled part of him, and Isobel was the only one around for him to take it out on. Regardless of any sympathy or almost kinship Isobel felt with him, she would not allow anyone to make her their punching bag.

"Back the _hell_ off," she hissed at him, shoving him away from her. Murphy stumbled back, still snarling.

"Make me," he challenged, charging at her. Isobel let him take two steps before she dodged out of the way and used his own momentum to shove him full-force into the tree trunk. He cursed loudly on impact, but turned quickly and tackled her to the ground.

Isobel was on her back with Murphy above her, panting in anger and sitting on her hips, pinning her arms near her head by her wrists. The redhead considered fighting him, struggling away, but a test-tug proved his grip to be too strong and she went limp. Feeling the lack of resistance drew Murphy out of his angry haze and he looked down on her, eyes clearing, and breathing heavily.

"You done?" she asked calmly. He went to reply, but the pair heard heavy footsteps approaching them.

"Shit," hissed Murphy, forcing himself to his feet and pulling out his knife while Isobel sprung up herself, pulling out her pipe. They stood back to back, the pair of them turning, watching the forest for any sign of danger.

"What the hell was that?" demanded Bellamy as he appeared between the trees, striding towards them. Wells was hot on his heels, concerned eyes turning instantly to Isobel, and the pair relaxed, putting their weapons away.

"Nothing," Isobel said sharply, throwing a warning glance to Murphy, who stared blankly back. "Where's Clarke and Finn?"

"They went ahead to the river," Wells told her. "We heard noise, and yelling, thought you guys were in trouble."

"In a way," muttered Murphy, heated gaze meeting Isobel's own, but neither of them elaborated.

"It was resolved," she said sharply. "It doesn't matter now."

"Whatever," Bellamy shrugged off. "We should catch up with the others. They might have found something."

"We did," cut in Clarke as she and Finn found them. "There's a trail leading from the other side of the river. If we follow it, we might find Jasper."

"Or we could find a gang of angry grounders," countered Isobel. "You got a better plan than 'follow the trail'? It's probably a trap."

"She's right," agreed Bellamy.

"We don't have any other choice," Clarke bit at them. "We'll follow the trail and deal with whatever we find at the end."

"Well, it was nice knowing all of you," muttered Isobel as she followed Clarke and Finn back to the river. "Wasn't this where that thing attacked Octavia?"

"We'll be fine, so long as we stick to the shallow parts," Clarke assured her.

"You sure?" snorted Murphy, looking doubtful.

"It's too big to swim here," Finn answered curtly. "Let's go."

Finn led the way, with Clarke close behind him. Wells went next and Isobel followed, then Murphy, with Bellamy covering the rear. The rocks beneath their feet were slippery and the tide was just strong enough to push Isobel slightly off-balance. She slipped, but Murphy caught her before she went down.

"You good?" he asked quietly, setting her on her feet and leaving his hands on her waist until she was steady.

"Yeah, thanks," she replied, her volume equally low. Over his shoulder, she saw Bellamy watching the exchange with a slightly frown, but he said nothing.

"Get your hands off her!" Wells yelled after looking back to find Murphy holding Isobel. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Lay off, Wells," Isobel snapped back, startling both Wells and Murphy at the switch – usually, she was defending the former, not the latter. "He's just helping me. I slipped."

"…Whatever," the boy scowled, turning to continue towards dry land. Isobel felt one of Murphy's hands slide off her hip, but the other remained as he stepped up behind her, his chest brushing her back.

"I get it now," he spoke into her ear. "You're just a sucker for justice."

"Keep moving," Bellamy grunted, stepping towards them. Isobel stiffly moved forwards, hurrying out of the water, with both men behind her. When the small group congregated on the other side, they found blood drying on a rock.

"This is definitely his?" asked Wells. Clarke turned to him, unimpressed, and threw a pair of goggles at him, which he caught.

"We found these," she said bluntly. Isobel took them from Wells and looked them over with a sigh.

"They could have been planted," she stated, seeing Clarke look up at her with a glare. "Jasper could have been the one to plant them, to leave a clue. Unlikely, given his injury, but they could have also fallen when they moved him. Still, just as likely to be a trap."

"Stop it, okay?" Finn frowned. "Trap or not, we need to find him."

"Not saying I'm not helping," she replied calmly, slipping the goggles over her head and wearing them around her neck. "Team Jasper, right?" she asked with a sarcastic smile. Finn looked at her with a strange expression before he shook his head, leading them into the trees.

"Hey, how do we know this is the right way?" asked Murphy before they were even clear of the river.

"We don't," Bellamy replied, walking along behind them towards the trees while the others followed Finn. "Spacewalker thinks he's a tracker."

"It's called 'cutting sign'," Wells spoke up to defend him. "Fourth-year earth skills. He's good."

"You want to keep it down or should I paint a target on your backs?" Finn asked curtly, glancing back at them before spotting a broken branch and crouching down, obviously finding something else. Clarke crouched with him, the pair exchanging a glance.

"See? You're invisible," Bellamy muttered to Wells, sounding smug. Isobel frowned over at them, narrowing her eyes. Her attention was drawn away when a pain-filled groan filled the air, echoing through the trees.

"What the hell was that?" asked Murphy, voicing all of their thoughts.

"Now would be a good time to take out that gun," Clarke said, standing, as all of them faced the direction of the sound.

They moved quickly, following the groans, not bothering with Finn's tracking skills anymore. Clarke and Finn lead the way, with Wells and Isobel not too far behind, and Murphy and Bellamy bringing up the rear. When they burst into a clearing, all of them had to pause to take in the sight before them.

Jasper was alive – barely. He'd been strung up, tied high to a tree with his arms above his head. They had removed the spear, and his shirt, and he was covered in blood and much paler than Isobel remembered him being. The only way she knew he was alive was the pain-filled moans he was emitting, as he was completely still against the tree. The roots of the tree made for an ample climbing frame, which explained how the grounders got him up there.

"Oh, my God," Clarke gasped and they all began moving forwards. "Jasper?" she called to him, hoping for a response.

"Clarke, be careful," warned Finn, following her closely.

"Jasper?" she called again, but he didn't seem to hear her. Isobel wasn't surprised – with the pain he was in, she doubted he was even aware of what planet he was on right now.

"What the hell is this?" uttered Bellamy, all of their eyes locked onto Jasper.

They didn't notice the trap, not that it was obvious. The next thing they knew, Clarke was falling into a hole in the ground, full of spikes. Bellamy's grip on her wrist was the only thing keeping her alive.

"Clarke!" yelled Wells, rushing to help her.

"Get her up! Pull her up!" cried Finn as they all hurried to grab Bellamy, helping him pull Clarke out of the hole. It was taking longer than strictly necessary, as Bellamy hesitated. Isobel dropped to her knees beside him, placing her hand on his as she reached for Clarke's other arm. Wells wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her as she pulled Clarke, while Finn and Murphy helped Bellamy.

"You okay?" asked Finn quietly the second they had her out of the hole.

"Yeah," she gasped, staring at the hole for a moment before standing and glancing at Bellamy. He averted his gaze, and all six of them turned back to Jasper. "We need to get him down."

"I'll climb up there and cut the vines," offered Finn.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm with you," agreed Wells, moving to follow him.

"No," Finn rejected quickly, looking between Bellamy, Murphy and, just for a second, Isobel. "Stay with Clarke…and watch him," he added, staring Bellamy down, receiving a glare in reply. "You," he continued, nodding at Murphy, "Let's go." After receiving a nod – permission – from Bellamy, Murphy went with Finn, up the tree.

"There's a poultice on his wound," Clarke noticed.

"Medicine?" questioned Wells, seeing it. "Why would they save his life just to string him up as live bait?"

"Maybe what they're trying to catch likes its dinner to be breathing," suggested Bellamy.

"Maybe what they're trying to catch is us," advised Finn as he and Murphy worked out how to get up to Jasper.

"I told you," Isobel sighed heavily, pulling the pipe out from the back of her waistband. " _Trap_."

Murphy and Finn climbed the tree on either side of Jasper, the latter checking that he was still breathing, as he hadn't made a sound in a while. Once they were sure he was alive, they pulled out their knives and began sawing at the bonds holding him – Finn took the ones at his waist, while Murphy worked on cutting his legs free.

"Hurry up, Murphy," called Bellamy nervously, watching their surroundings. At his side, Isobel was doing the same.

"Be careful," Clarke warned, her eyes trained on Jasper. The tall grass around them rustled, too sharply to have been the wind, and everyone froze.

"What the hell was that?" asked Murphy, his eyes wide.

"Grounders?" Bellamy asked Clarke, having never encountered them. They heard a chesty growl and looked in that direction, spotting their assailant stalking out of the grass. It was a large black cat with equally large teeth, staring them down with yellow eyes. Not wasting time, it roared at them and charged.

"Bellamy, gun!" Clarke yelled as the cat got closer.

Bellamy reached for his gun, only to find it gone from his waistband. He flailed for a moment, the cat clearly aiming for him, until shots began firing. Wells shot at the cat, each bullet missing the target, until one hit the cat's flank and slowed it down. He backed off, taking Clarke with him, but keeping the gun raised. He fired again at the grass the cat disappeared into, then once more, only to hear a click rather than a bang.

They were out of ammo. Isobel moved closer to the now weapon-less Bellamy, who seemed to be the creature's main target, her pipe gripped tightly in hand. It was quiet for a moment until she heard a roar from their right and reacted on instinct alone.

She threw herself at Bellamy, shoving him out of the way as she lifted the pipe up sharply. The cat yowled as the pipe pierced through its neck and it collapsed over Isobel, who was forced to the ground with the weight of the creature on top of her, its blood spilling over her chest. It was still alive, though, which she realised when it lashed out at her again, its jaw snapping and his sharp claws slashing at her.

Isobel cried out when the claws swiped a little too close to her arm for comfort, shredding through the arm of her green hoodie and nicking her skin slightly, and she ripped the pipe out of the cat's neck, the grooves tearing out a lot of flesh from the area. Not satisfied, Isobel thrust the pipe forwards again, the point coming up through the animal's eye.

She shook as everyone watched in shock, the feline now dead on top of her. It was quiet for all of one second before Wells and Clarke ran towards her to see if she was okay. Bellamy stayed on the ground, pushed up on his elbows, and stared at the small girl who had saved him from becoming cat food.

"Isobel!" cried Wells as he rushed towards her, falling onto his knees beside her.

"Are you okay?" asked Clarke, her hands hovering around the girl trapped under the large feline. The damage to her hoodie made her look in worse shape than she was, and Isobel hissed when Clarke tore away her sleeve and pushed it against the minor wounds on her arm to stop the blood flow.

"It's a scratch," she grunted, pushing Clarke's hands away. "Get this fucking thing off me, now!" she growled out, struggling to breathe under the weight of the feline. Quick to obey, Wells grabbed the cat's front paws and began dragging it, but stopped when Isobel cried out.

"What? What is it?" he asked quickly, frowning as he let the paws go.

"My ankle," she hissed. "I think I twisted it in the fall."

"Doesn't surprise me," nodded Clarke. "We need to lift this, not drag it. Bellamy, help him."

Bellamy shot up from the ground, snapping back to reality. Rather than offer up some sarcastic comment or tell Clarke not to order him around, he did as he was told, picking up the animal's back legs and Wells took the front, and together they lifted the creature off Isobel.

"You okay?" asked Murphy from on the tree. He ignored the look of mild surprise he got from the others as he watched Isobel get up. She grit her teeth and used Clarke's offered arm as support as she stood up.

"Fantastic," she replied bitingly, but the grimace on her mouth let him know the hostility was only due to the pain. "We can take that thing back to camp – skin it, cook it, and eat the bitch."

"So, no grudges against it, right?" snorted Clarke, a small grin on her face as the shorter girl rolled her eyes.

"Not a one," she said sarcastically, lowering herself onto a rock while the boys continued to cut Jasper down. She toyed with the goggles around her neck as Clarke and Wells moved over to the tree to help get him down, while Bellamy remained with her.

"How's it going?" she called over to them, wanting more than anything to go over and see for herself.

"Be careful," warned Clarke as Finn and Murphy lowered Jasper down to her and Wells. Isobel glanced over at Bellamy, who was already staring at her.

"You should go help them," she said anxiously. "Who knows what else is out here. We need to get him and go as quick as possible."

"You saved my life," he uttered suddenly, and Isobel looked over in shock. She said nothing for a moment before shaking her head.

"Not important right now," she told him with a frown. "We _need_ to go, get back to camp."

"…Right," he nodded before shaking his head slightly. Once clear of the shock, Bellamy hurried over and helped Wells and Clarke keep Jasper steady until he was completely out of the tree. Once he was down, Finn jumped down and he and Wells held Jasper between them.

"I have something in my bag – we can use it to carry him," Wells mention, but Clarke shook her head.

"It'd be better to carry him like that," she said, gesturing to how Finn and Wells were holding him. "If we jostle the wound too much, he could start bleeding again, and he'd die before we get back."

"Use the parachute to carry the cat," Isobel suggested, pushing herself off the rock, careful not to put pressure on her left ankle. "I'll be damned if we go hungry after I killed that thing."

"Here, here," agreed Murphy slowly, moving to Wells' bag and pulling out the parachute, him and Bellamy wrapping the cat up in it. Clarke moved over to her and raised an eyebrow.

"You're not gonna be able to walk on your own," she stated firmly and Isobel grit her teeth.

"So, what?" she frowned. "Am I being left behind?"

"Not a chance," growled Bellamy, striding over to them. "I'll carry you. Murphy can carry the panther."

"Panther?" she echoed, tilting her head. "Is that what it was?"

"Yeah," he nodded, moving to pick her up, and she jumped back quickly, tripping herself over the rock she was sat on and falling to the ground. "Hey, you okay?"

"I'm fine," she insisted, not trying to get up, and staring at Bellamy with wide eyes. "No one's carrying me. I can walk."

"No, you can't," Clarke countered, "but I wasn't suggesting leaving you behind, either. The panther's heavy, Bellamy, you need to help Murphy carry it. I'll help Isobel."

"Yeah, sounds like a plan," agreed the redhead, taking Clarke's hand to pull herself up. The blonde then moved Isobel's left arm over her shoulders to help support the redhead's ankle as they walked.

"Let's go," Clarke called as the girls began walking. "It's a long way back to the dropship."

The trek was just as far as it had been the first time but, between an unconscious Jasper, an injured Isobel, and a dead panther, it took twice as long to get back to the dropship as it did to find their friend. Isobel did her best to not put too much weight on Clarke, insisting that she was fine, but the blonde wasn't even a little bit fooled.

"Isobel, you're gonna hurt yourself worse if you don't lean on Clarke," Wells told her firmly when they were half way back.

"It takes too long," the redhead replied, hissing when her foot snagged on a branch. "Son of a –!"

"Are you okay?" asked Bellamy, darting towards her. Murphy cursed under his breath as he had to speed up as well, or be left with the entire weight of the panther.

"I'm fine," Isobel snapped. "Stop worrying about me. We need to get Jasper back quickly."

"She's right," Clarke agreed, eyes flicking between Isobel and Bellamy. "Switch with me."

"What?" the redhead yelped as Bellamy instantly dropped the panther and Clarke handed her off to him, moving to take the end of the parachute Bellamy was holding as Bellamy held Isobel's wrists to steady her. "Wait, what the hell?"

"He can carry you," Clarke explained. "It'll be quicker."

"No, wait –!" she began, but didn't get to finish before Bellamy had turned, offering her his back. "You can't be serious."

"It's this, or I just pick you up," he warned, looking at her over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. Isobel hesitated for a moment before giving in, sighing as she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Bellamy gripped the backs of her thighs as he stood, making sure she wasn't going to fall.

"Let's get moving," Clarke nodded, baring the weight of the panther without complaint, especially when they realised that, with Bellamy simply carrying the injured redhead, they were moving much quicker.

It was dark by the time she reached the dropship, though most people were still up, waiting for their return. Wells and Finn practically ran through the camp with Jasper, heading straight to the dropship, as Clarke let go of her part of the parachute and ran with them, hoping to get Jasper inside as quickly as possible.

"I can't move this thing on my own," complained Murphy, kicking the wrapped-up panther. Bellamy glanced back at him, about to tell him to suck it up, when Isobel unlocked her arms from around his neck and wriggled around, wanting to be let down.

"Help him," she suggested. "I can walk just fine."

"Clarke said –"

"I don't give a crap what Clarke said," she grunted, landing on her right leg and keeping her left foot off the ground. "Help Murphy. I'll hobble inside in my own time."

"Listen to her," Murphy spoke up, raising his eyebrows. Bellamy huffed a sigh before turning and helping with the panther.

"Wait here," he said on his way past her. "I'll come back and get you."

"Not a chance," she grumbled when they had made their way inside. Using the posts that had been sunk into the ground for a wall, Isobel made her way slowly inside, almost having to hop to get anywhere.

"Who's hungry?" she heard Bellamy ask. Looking up, she saw that he had unwrapped the cat, much to the happiness of everyone gathered around, all of whom started cheering.

Rather than go anywhere near the crowd, Isobel remained where she was, watching the dropship as Finn reappeared, looking around. He moved over to a pile of stuff quickly before heading back towards the dropship, but he stopped suddenly, glancing around again. He spotted her and made his way over quickly, looking her over.

"How's your foot?" he asked quietly, glancing down at it.

"Hurts like hell," she replied honestly. "What're you out here for? Shouldn't you be helping Clarke?"

"Getting something from my stuff," he told her. "You?"

"Can't really go anywhere," she sighed, leaning against the post she was using for support. Finn nodding, considering something, before smiling a little.

"Want me to help you inside?" he offered, raising an eyebrow. Isobel glanced over at Bellamy, who was still soaking up the praise for her kill, before sighing.

"Yeah, thanks," she accepted, moving to put her arm around his shoulders. Finn only laughed a little before just picking her up, wrapping his arms around her back and her knees and pulling her close. "Whoa! Surprised you're not too tired from helping Jasper."

"You're not too heavy," he shrugged slightly as she wrapped her arms around his neck to stop herself falling. Finn carried her past the crowd and to the dropship, Isobel meeting Bellamy's eye on their way in. She couldn't read anything from his expression, and so she simply looked away as they made their way to up the ladder to where Clarke was wiping the blood from Jasper's face.

"Thanks," whispered Isobel as Finn set her down by the wall. He smiled briefly before walking over to Clarke, handing her something from his pocket.

Isobel closed her eyes, hoping to get some sleep, but it wasn't long at all before Clarke was at her side with a damp cloth, wiping the blood away from the scratch marks on her arm. She said nothing as the blonde cleaned her wound, only starred at Jasper's mostly unmoving form across the floor and frowned.

"Is he gonna be okay?" she asked quietly. Clarke didn't need to look up to know who she was talking about.

"He's stable, for now," nodded Clarke as she moved from wiping Isobel's shoulder to check her ankle, "but we need to get him some medicine, or he won't last much longer. I'm gonna need to take your shoe off."

"Go for it," nodded Isobel, wincing as Clarke unlaced and pulled off the boot, quickly followed by her sock. The blonde checked her ankle, taking in the bruising and slightly swelling. "The poultice," the redhead recalled. "Do you know what was in it?"

"A plant of some kind," she sighed, lowering Isobel's foot to the floor of the dropship. "I'll take a closer look at it later. For now, he's sleeping and it's still useful. I can't pick it apart when it's the only thing keeping him alive at the moment."

"Right," Isobel sighed, frowning as her hand went up to the goggles she was wearing around her neck. "I should probably give these to Monty," she realised, biting her lip. "They're best friends – he might wanna hold onto them until Jasper's better."

"Nah," smiled Clarke. "I think Jasper will be twice as happy if he wakes up and finds out the 'hot, badass redhead' has been wearing them."

"He called me that?" she gaped, cheeks turning red when Clarke nodded.

"Oh, yeah," she confirmed. "You made _quite_ the impression on him, and on Monty, too. I think the pair of them spent the first half of our journey trying to figure out how they would get you to talk to them again."

"That's…strangely endearing," she smiled towards the unconscious boy. "Thanks, Clarke," she added when the blonde moved away.

"Don't worry about it," the blonde dismissed. "Your ankle is swollen and bruised, but not broken. Should heal up a few days," she assured. Isobel quirked a smirk and glanced up at Clarke, who was looking towards the entrance of the dropship.

"Go grab yourself some panther," she prompted with a nod of her head. "You have more than earned it."

"Thanks," Clarke smiled, leaving the dropship. Once she was gone, Isobel looked down at herself and sighed, seeing her green hoodie was ruined. The right sleeve was gone, torn up by the panther then ripped off by Clarke, and the front of it was covered with blood. Grimacing at the state of it, Isobel unzipped it and pulled it off, noticing that her grey tank top was slighting stained with the panther's blood, too, and there was plenty of it dried on her neck and chest.

With a sigh, Isobel leaned down to pick up her discarded boot, but decided it would hurt too much to try and pull it back on. Instead, she shoved her sock inside it and proceeded to take off the shoe and sock from her other foot, leaving both boots beside each other. She then shifted from where she was sat and used her right leg to shuffle herself closer to Jasper, picking up the damp cloth from the bowl of water that Clarke had been using to clean off his face. She put it to her chest and began wiping the blood off, glancing down at Jasper as she did so.

"You must be one hell of a fighter to survive this," she muttered, wiping at the blood and dirt on her neck. Jasper stirred slightly, his brow furrowing in pain, before he stilled again.

"Hey," called Bellamy as he climbed the ladder, startling Isobel. She jumped, then winced when the movement jostled her ankle. "You okay?" he asked, moving closer.

"Fine," she said shortly, briefly glancing over at him before looking back at Jasper. Bellamy's eyes were on her bare feet, frowning at the swelling in her ankle and the bruising appearing on the skin he could see.

"Think he'll make it?" he asked, though his tone suggested that he didn't care too much either way.

"I hope he will," she replied. "What did you want?"

"I told you to wait," Bellamy reminded her. "I said I'd come back."

"Finn got there first," Isobel stated, lowering her eyes. A stick with a decent portion of meat on the end was presented to her, still steaming from the fire, and she took it slowly. "What's this?"

"Dinner," the older man shrugged. "Figured you'd be hungry, and no one else was bringing you any."

"Right…thanks."

"I should be thanking you, after what you did," he said quietly, trying to catch her eye, but Isobel wouldn't look at him. She only shrugged.

"Instinct," she told him, taking a bite of the panther meat. "I hate to see people get hurt."

"That explains why you stick with Wells," he chuckled, but she didn't seem to find the humour. Clearing his throat, Bellamy stood back up, heading towards the ladder. "If you, uh, need anything – _anything_ – just…let me know."

Isobel nodded, but she was quiet and Bellamy sighed, wondering what he had done to make her give him the silent treatment. Shrugging it off, he decided to go looking for his sister, who he hadn't seen since he got back.

With her cheeks flaming red, and unsure if she could form a coherent sentence right now, Isobel glanced at his retreating form over her shoulder before looking back to Jasper. Once she had heard Bellamy leave, she let out a sigh of relief and clenched her fists, skewered meat in one hand and washcloth in the other.

She looked down at Jasper and smiled.

"Between you and me, I've got a huge crush on that guy. Have since I was about seven. He was pretty much the only guy from my station who said more than two kind words to me."

"So, that's what it is," another voice broke in from the ladder. Isobel, recognising the voice, turning and raised an eyebrow.

"Eavesdrop much?" she snorted as he hoisted himself up and sat down beside her.

"Only way I get anything outta you," Wells half-smiled, glancing down at her ankle. "Saw Finn carry you in here. Does it hurt a lot?"

"Can't put much weight on it, but Clarke said it should heal quickly," Isobel shrugged, reach a hand up to scratch her chest where the flaking panther blood made it itchy.

"You were right," Wells admitted, but Isobel only glanced across at him in confusion. "About the pipe," he elaborated. "It came in handy. Definitely more useful than a little knife."

"Honestly, I was a little afraid to use it," Isobel confessed, handing him the stick with half the panther meat still on it. He didn't take it. "Go ahead, Wells. I know Bellamy and Murphy will be in charge of the food, and I can't see them feeding you."

"I'm fine," he denied and she frowned.

"Take it," she insisted. "I won't finish it, anyway. Tastes funny."

"Tastes funny, so you give it to me?" Wells grinned, taking the stick and biting off a portion of the meat, only to cringe. "Not the best, but food is food."

"Here, here," nodded the redhead.

"What did you mean before, when you said you were afraid?" he asked before taking another bite.

"You were right," Isobel sighed. "That weapon is torture, and I'm kinda glad we were fighting an animal, not a human. I don't know if I could have done that to another person."

"Good," he nodded. "I'm glad I'm not friends with a psychopath."

"You might not be so quick to say that if you knew what I did."

Wells looked up at her, but she was looking down at her lap, twisting her hands together. A frown had settled on her face, and he could tell that this topic was uncomfortable. He could see her mouth moving, as though she were trying to form words, but vocalisation escaped her.

"Don't," he stopped her. "You don't have to tell me. You're my friend. Whatever you did up there, it doesn't matter down here."

"Thank you," the redhead smiled slightly. Wells grinned back, shifting closer and wrapping his arms around her. He felt Isobel tense and he pulled back instantly.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, concerned, but she didn't look in pain. If anything, she looked wary. "Isobel?"

"Sorry," she said quickly. "I'm just…I never…"

"You've never had a hug?" he asked, incredulous, and Isobel bit her lip.

"Of course I've had a hug," she replied defensively. "My mom used to hug me, but after she died…I guess there was no one else around to do it."

"What about your dad?"

"My dad," Isobel face seem to flatten, all emotion stomped out of her eyes. "He was…not the most affectionate."

"When…When did your mom die?" he asked gently, almost afraid to hear how long it had been since anyone held Isobel.

"I was seven."

Wells reach out and held her again, and this time she relaxed. He squeezed her tight, as if trying to make up for all the years no one else did.

"I'm always here, you know. I'll be around whenever you need one of these."

"I'll hold you to it," Isobel muttered into his shoulder, feeling safe and happy for the first time in years.


	5. Every Life Matters

Chapter Five: Every Life Matters

Jasper moaned in pain.

It was the middle of the night, and his fever had spiked. He was sweating heavily, writhing as much as his tired, pain-wracked body would allow, and – much to the chagrin of everyone trying to sleep in the dropship – groaning loudly. Clarke was at his side, checking his pulse, while Isobel sat opposite her, just stroking his hair, trying to comfort him. Monty was a short distance away, supposed to be working on contact with The Ark, but he, too, was watching his friend.

"His pulse is thready," said Clarke, checking it against her watch. Isobel looked up from Jasper's face, frowning.

"Go back to sleep!" someone yelled from the floor below.

"Quiet!" another groaned as Jasper moaned in pain again.

"Shut up, all of you," Isobel snapped back before looking back down to Jasper, stroking his hair back from his forehead. "Don't listen to them," she said softly, ignoring the curious look Clarke was giving her. "You're gonna get through this."

"We promise," the blonde added firmly.

"Can he just die already?" the first voice spoke again. Isobel grit her teeth, looking up and meeting Clarke's eye.

"I will hurt the next person to comment, Clarke, I swear," she warned the blonde, her blue eyes dark with anger.

"I'm gonna get clean water," Clarke said, looking between Isobel and Monty as she stood up. "Keep an eye on him."

Monty moved closer as Clarke left, just looking down at his best friend as he groaned in pain. Isobel kept stroking his hair, whispering soft words to him to try to calm him down. She began humming quietly and Monty looked up at her, a confused frown on his face.

"Why are you still here?" he asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard over Jasper's groans. Isobel looked up at him, her eyes wide, going quiet.

"I…I'm not sure," she replied honestly. Her eyes lowered to Jasper again and she sighed. "He was nice," she said, a smile flitting across his face. "I guess…There's not been a lot of nice in my life, and I latch onto it."

"Yeah," Monty sighed. "I gotta say, I was pretty shocked when he started talking to you in the dropship. I don't think Jasper's ever said more than three words to girl in his life before that."

"Maybe I'm just not as intimidating as some of the other girls on The Ark," she suggested with a shrug. Monty only snorted, his eyes on Jasper, though they flickered over her for a moment.

"Trust me," he said, "you're plenty intimidating."

"Well, then, I'm flattered," she smiled. "It must've taken some nerve to just start talking to a 'hot, badass redhead'," she added slyly and Monty's eyes widening, his face flushing as he looked up at her.

"Who told you?" he demanded, embarrassment filling his voice when she grinned at him.

"Clarke," she admitted. "Don't worry, I think it's cute."

"Cute?" he snorted. "I don't think girls are supposed to find it 'cute' when a guy compliments them."

"I don't think it's supposed to be cute when guys talk about a girl amongst themselves rather than _to_ her," she countered, raising an eyebrow.

"…Point taken," he acknowledged. "We'll stick with 'cute'."

"Wise choice," she agreed, nodding. They sat quietly for a moment, just watching Jasper's pain-filled face, before Monty yawned. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Uhh," his hesitation told her it had been a while, but his shrug let her know that he likely hadn't slept since they arrived on Earth.

"Monty, you need to take better care of yourself," she insisted. "How're you gonna work on all that smart, brain-stuff if you're half-asleep?"

"Smart, brain-stuff?" he repeated, a small grin on his face.

"Don't change the subject," Isobel warned teasingly.

"Fine, sorry," he muttered, stifling yet another yawn.

"Try to get some sleep," she advised. "I can watch him. Don't worry."

"I don't want to just…" he trailed off, caught between tiredness and wanting to stay with his friend.

"Go ahead," she prompted. "I'll wake you if anything happens."

"Okay," he sighed, nodding. "Thanks." With that, Monty moved back over to his space on the floor and curled up, closing his eyes to try and get some sleep.

Isobel watched him for a moment before going back to humming, running her hand through Jasper's hair. It seemed to calm him, as he was a little quieter, though he was still groaning in pain. The redhead almost screamed when people kept complaining about him, though they did so under their breath for the rest of the night.

By morning, Jasper wasn't any better, though Isobel had given in to sleep and was curled on the floor beside his head on the raised platform, the crown of her head settled near the crook between his neck and shoulder. Monty woke first and found them, noticing that Jasper seemed a little calmer, and he shook his head at the position – deathly injured and unconscious, Jasper was suddenly having all the luck with the girls.

The thought put a small smile on his face and he continued his work.

It wasn't long until Clarke came up to check on him, the sound of the hatch waking Isobel. The redhead shot up from where she had lain, eyes wide, and she caught Monty's grin. Replying with a playful glare, Isobel moved over so that Clarke could get to Jasper, Finn following her up the ladder.

"The grounders cauterized the wound," Clarke realised as she peeled off the poultice. "Saved his life."

"Saved his life so they could string him up for live bait," scoffed Finn as he circled the room. "Garden of Eden this ain't." The blonde glanced up at his sarcasm, but didn't reply.

"This is infected," she muttered, observing the wound closer. "He could be septic."

"That's bad, right?" frowned Isobel, limping closer. Her ankle had gotten better, so she could put weight on it and had managed to pull her boots back on, but it wasn't fully healed. The scratches, thankfully, had scabbed over.

"It's not good," sighed Clarke, turning to Monty. "Any progress on using the wristbands to contact the Ark?" she asked, but he didn't respond. He was staring at Jasper, the bad news worrying him. "Monty?" she asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"That would be a firm no," he replied, still toying with the pile of wristbands, his eyes on Jasper. Wells appeared in the hatch, climbing the ladder into the room, though Clarke took no notice of him.

"My mother would know what to do," Clarke stressed quietly, her eyebrows knitted together.

"How's he doing?" asked the younger Jaha, crouching beside the blonde.

"How does it look like he's doing, Wells?" snapped Clarke, and Isobel glared at her.

"No need to be snappy," she scolded. "We're all worried."

"I'm just trying to help," agreed Wells. Jasper moaned loudly and Isobel hurried towards him, hand going to his head to stroke his hair back again, which seemed to calm him a little.

"Not bad," nodded Clarke, seeing that it worked. She looked over at Wells for a second and took a breath. "Right. You want to help?" asked the blonde, Wells nodding. "Hold him down," she ordered. Doing as he was told, Wells restrained Jasper's knees, Finn moving to hold down his feet.

Isobel watched as Clarke grabbed a knife and held it in the small fire they had going next to her, letting the metal heat. Catching on quickly, Isobel moved her hands from Jasper's hair to his shoulders, ready to keep him pinned throughout the process. She knew it would hurt, but it would keep him alive.

"I'm not gonna like this, am I?" questioned Monty, already turning a little pale as he looked between Clarke and her helpers.

Clarke took a deep breath and looked between Wells, Finn and Isobel, all of whom nodded back at her. Swallowing hard, she lowered the blade to his wound, Jasper screaming the second it touched him. He writhed hard, his shoulder lifting and his legs twitching.

"Hold him still," warned Clarke, moving the knife away. "I need to cut away the infected flesh."

Jasper cried out again as she went back to it, his eyes rolling back and tears falling down his face. Isobel's heart lurched as she looked at him, pushing his shoulders down and willing him to survive what she didn't doubt was the most painful thing he had ever experienced. She leaned down, whispering to him, hoping to soothe him somehow. His head lolled to the side and the blonde checked his pulse, confirming that he was still alive.

"Stop it!" demanded Octavia as she stormed into the room, falling to her knees between Clarke and Isobel with some kind of cloth clutched in her hand. "You're killing him."

"She's trying to save his life," corrected Finn gently.

"She can't," Bellamy stated, having followed his sister. Isobel grit her teeth at his statement, but said nothing as she kept her hands on Jasper's shoulders. It was mostly unneeded, as he had now gone completely limp, but she couldn't move away from him.

"Back off," warned Wells calmly, standing to stop Bellamy from advancing.

"We didn't drag him through miles of woods just to let him die," added Clarke.

"Kid's a goner," Bellamy continued and Isobel clenched her fists, resting them on Jasper's shoulders. "If you can't see that, you're deluded. He's making people crazy."

"Sorry if Jasper's an inconvenience to you, but this isn't the Ark," Clarke stated firmly, glancing at Bellamy. "Down here, every life matters."

"Take a look at him," the man insisted gravely as Octavia began to dab at Jasper's sweaty brow with a washcloth. "He's a lost cause."

They were all quiet, Bellamy's words sinking in. Octavia looked Jasper over, her body trembling as she took in how pale and sweaty he was. He certainly looked like death, but Isobel didn't want to believe he was so close to it. The redhead snapped her eyes shut, running a hand through Jasper's hair. Clarke looked at them, seeing their turmoil, and frowned.

"I've spent my whole life watching my mother heal people," the blonde said to Octavia and Isobel, both of whom looked at her, craving her positive opinion of Jasper's condition. "If I say there's hope, there's hope."

"This isn't about hope, it's about guts," corrected Bellamy. By this point, Isobel was shaking, and Octavia glanced at her. "You don't have the guts to make the hard choices. I do," he stated. His words struck a chord with Isobel – if they let him, he was willing to be the one to end Jasper's life. "He's been like this for three days. If he's not better by tomorrow, I'll kill him myself."

"You will stay the _hell_ away from him," growled Isobel, standing quickly and storming towards Bellamy.

In anger, she forgot her injury, and her ankle turned under her. She tumbled towards the older man, him automatically throwing out his arms and catching her, standing her up. He kept his hands on her shoulder and looked her over, and she smacked his hands away from her.

"Isobel, you okay?" asked Wells, resting his hand on her shoulder. She let him, if only to show Bellamy that it was only _him_ she wouldn't let near her.

"You won't touch Jasper," she hissed, "or I will _end_ you. He saved Octavia, and you want to repay him by killing him – and why? Because his suffering is a little too _loud_ for you?"

"That's not it," Bellamy frowned, shifting uncomfortably.

"Oh, is it morale?" she guessed, knowing she was right when his eyes snapped back to her. "Well too _bad_. Everyone can stay miserable, for all I care. If Jasper dies, it won't be because we let some self-important asshole kill him."

Bellamy, it seemed, had no response for that. He stared at her for a moment before turning to the hatch, only pausing at the ladder for a second to talk to his sister. "Octavia, let's go."

"I'm staying here," his sister replied, not sparing him a glance. Clearly beaten, Bellamy left without another word.

"Power-hungry, self-serving jackass," muttered Monty spitefully. "He doesn't care about anyone but himself. No offense," he tacked on quickly, looking at Octavia, who only sighed and shrugged slightly.

"Yeah," Finn agreed. "Bellamy is all that, but he also happens to be right."

"You need to leave," Isobel said quietly, hobbling back to her place by Jasper's head. Finn sighed, seeing her response to his words. "Clarke, do what you need to do."

"Isobel –"

"Get out or shut up," she persisted calmly, but with an angry frown, cutting off the Spacewalker. "Clarke, do it." Clarke nodded, putting the knife back in the coals for a moment before continuing to cut away the infected skin.

Jasper screamed and writhed and dropped in and out of consciousness four times before she was finished. After all the flesh had been cut away, Clarke cleaned off the knife in the water bowl and stood, collecting the poultice before she left through the hatch. A moment past before Finn went after her, then Wells left, too.

Octavia stayed, still wiping away the sweat from Jasper's face, neck and torso, while Isobel kept running her hands through his hair, humming softly. Monty was back to the wristbands, trying to distract himself from the sounds of his friend's pain. He glanced over, seeing the two beautiful girls tending to Jasper, and had to scoff mentally – Jasper would kick himself when Monty told him that he was more popular with the girls when he was mortally wounded and unconscious.

"Oh, I brought you this," Octavia said suddenly, reaching behind her and picking up the cloth she had discarded earlier. She handed it over to Isobel, who held it out and saw that it was a new top.

"Thanks," Isobel smiled a little, more than ready to be rid of the bloody grey tank top she wore. She reached for the hem of it and glanced over at Monty, who seemed to have frozen slightly when he realised she planned to change right there. "Wanna turn around, smart one?"

"O-Oh, yeah," he blinked rapidly, clearing his throat as he turned, hearing the sound of her old top hitting the floor. She pulled on the faded, dark blue tank top, breathing a sigh of relief at the feel of clean clothing. Quickly, she then leant down and grabbed her jacket – the jacket Wells had given her – giving Octavia a brief glimpse at her back. The dark-haired girl frowned a little, but the lighting in the dropship wasn't great, and she'd only seen it for a second, so she assumed that her eyes were messing with her.

"Thanks, Octavia," she smiled, pulling the jacket on to cover herself up, aware that the new top was a little more revealing than her last one. "Where did you even find it?"

"Some of the girls were wearing layered shirts," explained the darker hair teen, reaching again for the washcloth and dabbing it at Jasper's forehead. "They decided to stockpile them, so we could have at least mostly-clean clothes some of the time."

"That's a good idea. All good, Monty," Isobel told him. "You can turn around now."

"Thanks," he half-smiled, looking her over without really meaning to, before he glanced down at Jasper and turned back to the wristbands.

"Hey," sounded Clarke, poking her head up through the hatch, glancing at Jasper between the girls. "How's he doing?"

"Not awake, but he's calmer than before," replied Isobel. "He still has a fever."

"The infection was pretty bad," nodded the blonde, hanging on to the ladder.

"I thought you cut it away," voiced Octavia, frowning as she wiped away the tear tracks on Jasper's face.

"The flesh, yes," she sighed, "but he's still got an infection. That's actually why I'm here. We've identified the plant that was in the poultice – seaweed. I think if we brewed some into a tea, it would help him heal. Finn, Wells and I are going out to get some."

"Hurry back, okay?" said Monty, all but pleading. Clarke smiled weakly at him, but nodded.

"Good luck," bid Isobel as the blonde climbed back down the ladder. The redhead stood and moved over to the hatch, closing it. Jasper was quieter now, but he was still groaning – the less people heard, the better.

"I hope they find it quickly," Octavia muttered, dropping the washcloth back into the water basin with a sigh.

"I know they'll find it," Isobel confirmed. "I just hope they get back quickly. This place isn't exactly known for smooth journeys," she scoffed as she moved back to her place by Jasper's head, and Octavia nodded, agreeing.

"They'll do it," Monty said, his voice both confident and hopeful, though his eyes were trained on the wristband in his hand. "They have to."

"…I'm going to change the water," said Octavia, standing and grabbing the water basin. "You guys want anything? I can grab some food, or drinking water?"

"Just water, please," accepted Isobel, offering the darker haired girl a small, thankful smile.

"Same," agreed Monty. The younger Blake nodded, walking to the hatch and pulling it open.

"Back soon," she told them as she climbed down the ladder, pulling the hatch closed after her.

This left just Isobel and Monty with the pain-filled Jasper, and the latter had all but abandoned his project with the wristbands in favour of watching over his friend. Jasper groaned again, moving as if to turn over, but Isobel pushed his shoulders down gently and hushed him, threading her fingers through his sweat-damped hair.

"You're good at that," noted Monty, glancing between the redhead and his best friend.

"My mother used to do this whenever I was sick," she smiled a little, not looking up from Jasper. "It didn't really make me feel better, or make the pain go away, but it was comforting to know someone was there."

"My mom was the same," he chuckled. "She always used to feed me this really awful tasting tea whenever I was sick. I'm convinced that it didn't do anything, but it was so bad that I think my body refused to get sick, just to avoid it."

"I can't imagine something tasting _that_ bad," Isobel sniggered, looking up at him, her nose wrinkled in distaste.

"It did," he assured her, shaking his head. "My dad used to say she mixed it with pure love – that's why it was so sickly sweet."

"Who knew love tasted so bad?" Isobel joked, the pair laughing for a moment until Jasper moaned again, sobering them both. The redhead looked back down at him, brushing her hand over his cheek.

Monty watched her for a while. He didn't know a lot about her, but he had seen her beat up Murphy to stand up for Wells, and trek through the forest to find someone she didn't really know, and then comfort Jasper every time he so much as whimpered. All of that put together fit the image of a caring person, and he couldn't believe that most people around the camp guessed at her being a violent criminal.

She was a little angry from time to time, sure, but he couldn't see her being a straight-up killer.

"What did you do to get lock up?" he asked, unable to ignore his curiosity. He regretted the question, however, when she tensed. "I – I mean, you don't have to tell me."

"I'd rather not, if that's okay," she said stiffly, glancing over at him with no expression on her face. "It's not easy to talk about."

"Yeah, no problem," Monty assured. "Forget I asked."

They were quite for a while, neither sure how to continue a conversation when Isobel had so completely shut the last one down. Monty, however, didn't want to let go of the small friendliness Isobel had been showing him, and was desperate to keep her talking.

"Jasper and I were locked up for doing drugs," he blurted out without any prompting. Isobel's attention snapped back to him, her eyes wide. "Not, like, _bad_ ones. We took some stuff from the gardens to get a little buzz."

"You grew drugs on Farm Station?" Isobel asked, eyebrow raise and slightly smile forming on her mouth.

"No," snorted Monty. "We grew medicinal plants. It was a pain killer, supposed to be given in minor doses."

"You guys do this a lot?" she questioned. Monty shrugged.

"A few times, but not too often," he sighed. "Enough to get noticed and caught, though."

"They locked you up for that?" she frowned. Monty shrugged again, seeing the anger forming in her eyes.

"People were locked up for less," Monty reminded. "People were _floated_ for less."

"Doesn't make it right," Isobel snapped. "Sorry," she added softly when she noticed Monty glance away from her. "I don't mean to take it out on you. It's just…Why give minor offenses a life sentence?"

"You'd have to ask the chancellor," the boy snorted and Isobel rolled her eyes.

"Great idea," she snorted, "I'll get right on that."

"You get locked up for something minor, too?" he asked without thinking, wincing when she tensed up again. "Shoot, sorry! It just slipped out!"

"No," Isobel said, meeting his eye. "It wasn't minor."

"I won't ask anymore," Monty assured. "Sorry."

"Don't be," the redhead shrugged off. "I know people are curious. I'd just rather not talk about it."

"Fair enough," he nodded, glancing at the wristbands.

"What was your mom like?" Isobel asked suddenly and Monty turned to face her, surprised.

"She was…She's great," he grinned, remembering his mother. "I mean, she's strict. Never let me slack on my schoolwork, and always made sure I studied extra so that I could do whatever I wanted when I left school."

"Like work in engineering?" prompted Isobel and Monty nodded slightly.

"Yeah, or stay in Farm Station," he sighed. "At one point, I really wanted to be a pharmacist, and work in medical."

"Why didn't you apply? I know engineering recruited you, so they could have you as soon as you graduated. Why not sign up to work for medical instead?"

"The opportunity never came around. I never really got the training. I was good with mechanics, and with plants, but not so much with the medical side of things. They needed someone who could administer medication _and_ treat patients," he shrugged. "What about you? What did you want to do?"

"…I never thought about it," she said softly. "If things turned out differently, I probably would have just ended up doing what some of the other women on Factory Station did. Repairing clothes – it was the only skill I was ever really taught. They made money with it, especially the women who fixed up Guard Uniforms."

"Sounds boring," Monty admitted and Isobel nodded.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Guess getting locked up was the best thing that happened to me."

"…So, you grew up on Factory Station, right?" asked Monty, changing the topic.

"Uh huh," Isobel replied. "Why?"

"What was it like?" he asked. "I mean, Farm Station was pretty much a sweatbox. It was humid almost all the time, and it stank everywhere. Even the living quarters stunk, but not as awful as the rest of it."

"Sounds bad," the redhead smiled. "Factory Station was…empty. The people that had jobs left early, and everyone else just stayed in their quarters. I used to go across the hall, and Mrs Blake would teach me how to sew and help me fix my and my dad's clothes after my mom died. She was pretty much the only person I talked to, aside from my parents."

"Blake?" Monty noticed. "Like Bellamy and Octavia?"

"Yeah," Isobel nodded. "Well, Bellamy, anyway. I saw him a few times, but he was usually getting home around the time I left. I never saw Octavia, but, y'know."

"I know," he sighed, thinking about how awful it must have been to spend your life in hiding. "So, you already knew Bellamy? I'm surprised you stick with Wells so much. Why not stay with what you know?"

"I don't really _know_ him," she muttered. "We talked a few times, but he's older and he wasn't around a lot. I guess I just clicked with Wells."

"So, you and Wells are…?"

"What?" the redhead frowned.

"Y'know, dating…ish?" he asked hesitantly, but Isobel only laughed.

"No, no way," she smiled. "Wells is…He's kinda my only friend."

"First friend," Monty correctly instantly, smiling back. "Keep saying he's your only friend, and I might get upset."

The hatch opened, cutting off any answer Isobel could have given. Monty jumped and looked quickly back to the wristbands, as if he was a child doing something wrong. Isobel only smiled and shook her head at his antics, going back to stroking Jasper's hair, humming softly.

"I'm back," announced Octavia as she pushed herself off the ladder and back into the room. She had the water basin, though it was clean and empty, and a full, medium-sized container of water strapped over her shoulder. Clenched in the same hand as the basin was a new, clean cloth.

"No change," Isobel told her as the girl walked back over to Jasper, pouring some of the water into the basin. She then handed the bottle to Isobel, who drank a few mouthfuls before sealing it and throwing it towards Monty. He caught it, drank, and set it down beside him.

"So, this'll probably make you laugh," Octavia began, glancing at Isobel before biting her lip. "Or piss you off, but I'm gonna tell you anyway."

"Then tell me," smirked Isobel, looking over at the younger Blake.

"Did you really take down that panther?" she asked, getting the full attention of Monty once more.

"That was you?" he asked, his jaw dropped in surprise. Isobel's cheeks burned at the attention and she shrugged.

"It was life or death," she muttered. "I just reacted."

"You saved Bellamy's life," Octavia continued, raising her eyebrows.

"That's what he's telling everyone?" she scoffed.

"That's what he told _me_ ," corrected the darker-haired teen. "To everyone else, you killed it for dinner. He told me Wells stole his gun and used up the ammo, and you pushed my brother out of the way when the panther attacked."

"Yeah…that's pretty much how it went down," she nodded, looking back down at Jasper.

"That's so badass," grinned Monty, getting a mock-glare in reply.

"I'll admit, I'm a little ticked, but not pissed off," shrugged Isobel. "So what if everyone's gossiping about it? They'll find something else to talk about soon enough."

"That's not the funny part," sniggered Octavia. "Murphy's decided, in light of everyone's new favourite story, that your nickname isn't 'red' anymore. It wasn't creative enough, apparently."

"I'm not gonna like this," groaned the redhead. "What is it?"

"…Wildcat."

Monty sniggered for a moment before he burst out laughing, unable to contain himself, and Octavia was quick to join in. Isobel, meanwhile, fumed. She didn't like being called 'red', and 'wildcat' was certainly not a step up.

"Why can't he just use my _name_?" she growled, gritting her teeth.

"Easy, wildcat," snorted Monty. Isobel scowled at him, opening her mouth to respond, when suddenly a bombardment of sound and movement struck the dropship.

Without warning or preamble, people started pouring in to the dropship, coughing into their sleeves as they moved around, sealing off the vents and closing any openings. Confused, Monty, Octavia and Isobel watched them move around for a moment, before the former spoke up.

"What's going on?" he asked, leaving the question open for anyone to answer.

"Air got thick," one girl responded quickly as she sat, holding her leg, which looked to be blistering in places. "Everyone's skin started burning."

"Guys, my brother's out there," Octavia said to them, worry coating her tone.

"He'll be fine," Monty replied, though his own voice was unsure. "We'll all be fine." Isobel was certain he was trying to convince himself more than them.


	6. Thick Air

Chapter Six: Thick Air

The dropship was warm and cramped, though the situation improved slightly when the sun went down. With the temperature dropping outside, it made the air inside more breathable, and it got quieter when people started trying to sleep. Of course, 'trying' was the operative word, as Jasper's pain-filled cries still saturated the air.

"Shh, shh," Isobel said softly, trying to soothe him. She and Octavia exchanged a worried look – he was getting worse.

Monty had gone to the level down to get some water for the three of them, leaving the girls to care for Jasper. He had left the hatch open, just for a moment, but that was allowing the sounds of anguish to leak down to where the others were sleeping, and Isobel could hear their complaints as it continued to keep them awake.

Octavia had abandoned the washcloth and basin by this point and had just been watching Isobel care for Jasper for the past few hours. The redhead would stroke his hair, or his forehead, or cheek, and whisper to him and hum. She began singing softly at one point, though the lyrics dried up when she remembered that she had a conscious audience.

"Think they'll get back soon?" asked Octavia with a frown as she sat back from her kneeling position.

"No," sighed the redhead. "If that fog out there is as acidic as everyone says, they won't be back until it lifts."

"If they get back at all," the brunette muttered. Isobel looked up with a frown, but couldn't dispute her point. "They were out in the woods – who knows if they found shelter. They could be dead or dying right now, and Jasper won't be far behind."

"Who are you worried about right now?" she cut in, half-glaring. "Jasper? Clarke, Wells, and Finn? Your brother?"

"He's out there and I have no idea if he's even alive," snapped Octavia, not meeting Isobel's eye. "The last thing I said to him…I can't let that be it."

"It won't be," sighed Isobel.

"How can you be so sure?" she asked. Isobel could hear the desperation in her voice, the craving for comfort.

"He snuck on-board an Exodus Ship bound for a planet everyone thought was unliveable, just to make sure you were okay," she stated. "We _all_ survived a crash-landing and days on a planet we only know about from second-hand sources. If you can say anything good about The Ark, it's bred survivors. We will _all_ get through a little thick air."

"Atom's out there, too," she sighed, frowning. Isobel raised an eyebrow.

"Your babysitter?" she smirked. "Didn't think you'd care too much."

"He's…Well, Bellamy pretty much threatened to kill him if he ever caught us together again, but," Octavia trailed off, a small smile on her face. "I think I could convince him to risk it. I _really_ like him."

"Easy solution," shrugged Isobel. "Just don't get caught."

"Like you?" snorted Octavia, grinned when Isobel shot her a confused look. "Oh, please. Like I haven't seen the way you look at my brother."

"I…I don't –"

"Murphy's going to kill Jasper!" cried Monty as he raced up the ladder, making it over the edge just as Murphy's face appeared in the hatch.

Isobel and Octavia leapt to their feet, the latter kicking Murphy down the ladder while the redhead and Monty closed the hatch, struggling to keep it shut with Murphy pounding on it from below.

"The lock is on the other side," recalled Isobel, resorting to sitting on the hatch, though her weight seemed to do little to stop the angry teen below. Monty dropped down on it too, the pair of them together making it heavy enough to slow Murphy down.

"Don't let him in!" yelled Octavia – not like they were going too – as she hurried across the room, looking for something to jam the hatch closed with.

"I'm gonna kill that kid!" roared Murphy from below. "Let me in! Let me in, Monty! Wildcat!" he thundered, throwing his weight behind his shoulder as he shoved at the hatch.

"Don't call me that!" the redhead snapped straight back. "Octavia, you got anything?"

"I'm looking," she replied frantically.

"No rush," Monty implored sarcastically as the hatch continued to raise below them, a testament to the strength Murphy had. Suddenly, Isobel realised she should probably stop stepping into fights with him.

"Yeah, we're good," Isobel huffed, planting her hands down as though it would help. Octavia pulled something from the wall and looked it over before turning back to them. "Totally relaxed over here."

"I got it!" she announced, holding a thick metal pipe in her hand. "Move it!"

"You better open up this hatch right now!" Murphy warned as Octavia slid the pipe under the handle and into a wrung on the ladder, successfully jamming the hatch closed.

He kept pounding away, unrelenting even in defeat, as the three teens stared at each other, wide-eyed and panting, exhausted from panic. Jasper, blissfully unaware of how close he came to having his throat slit, groaned. Isobel broke their three-way staring contest to turn and check on him, her hand going to his forehead.

"His fever's gotten worse," she muttered, the words a blanket of dread over an already terrible situation.

That night was restless. Jasper cried out every few seconds and, though no one was verbally complaining anymore, Isobel knew that the others resented him for living this long. Murphy had eventually given up trying to get in, though the three of them weren't able to relax for fear that he would start up again, and succeed in getting to Jasper.

Monty eventually fell into a fitful sleep, with Octavia not far behind him, but Isobel stayed awake.

She held Jasper's hand when he shook, stroked his hair when he cried out, and whispered to him when he whimpered. She did all the things she watched her mother do for her father, and felt the same thing she had back then – fear. The situations were different, of course. Her fear now was for Jasper's life, which was hanging by a thread.

He was threatened by more than just his injury. Infection, blood loss, angry delinquents, Murphy. He was a problem all of his own, and a dangerous one at that. His attack before had forced Isobel to face the fact that she did not know these people. She didn't know why they had been locked up, if they were truly dangerous or just full of bravado. She had no doubt that Murphy fell into the former category.

Her head throbbed, her eyelids heavy and her brain screamed for rest, but Isobel was a coil of unsprang energy. The adrenaline from before had made itself a home in her veins and she trembled, her hands unsteady and her breathing shallow.

All of her instincts were on high alert, prepared for the next threat to Jasper, and she wasn't even sure why she was so hell-bent on protecting him.

He was nice.

Where everyone else had ignored those around them, he had reached out to comfort a stranger. Sure, his method was clumsy and insufficient, but he had at least tried.

The first thing he did when they landed was flirt, and it was adorable. It was nervous and cliché, but so dorky that it transcended awkwardness and became endearing.

Jasper was good, and kind, and sweet, and she didn't want to see him suffer.

Too many good people had already suffered on The Ark.

As Bellamy kept saying, this was _not_ The Ark. She would not allow Jasper to be killed for convenience's sake.

As daylight came, so did the realisation that the fog had lifted. People woke and, tentatively at first, began venturing out of the dropship. Monty and Octavia woke and opened the vents, but were reluctant to unblock the hatch.

"Open it," said Isobel, glancing at him. "Clarke will need to get in when she gets back."

"What about Murphy?" Octavia asked, nervous and frowning.

"I can handle Murphy," she replied, though she knew it was a lie. Isobel was strong, and a fighter, but so was he, and he had proven himself to be more ruthless when he tried to kill Jasper – even before that, when he was fighting Wells. Isobel had no doubt that, given the chance, he would have be the only one to survive that fight.

The wait was long, torturous. Octavia began pacing, her tight circle likely to wear a hole in the floor. Monty was trying, desperately, to focus on getting the wristbands to work for contacting The Ark, but his heart wasn't in it so his brain refused to cooperate. Isobel seemed to be the most in control of her emotions, the most calm.

Sitting sentry by the hatch, Isobel had her gouged pipe resting on her lap, her legs hanging down the hole, opposite the ladder. Her eyes were focused down, hawk-like as they watched everyone who moved in and out of the dropship, keeping watch for anyone moving too close to the hatch for her liking. She hadn't seen Murphy all day, but she refused to drop her guard.

Her eyelids dropped for a moment, her head falling forwards onto her chest, before she snapped back up, blinking rapidly. She rubbed her eyes, ignoring the feeling of being watched – Isobel knew Monty and Octavia were staring at her, realising that she hadn't slept. Disregarding their gazes, Isobel looked over towards Jasper before footsteps below caught her attention again.

It wasn't Murphy, or anyone vaguely threatening-looking, but Isobel stared down the girl anyway. She was probably a little younger, with tightly curled dark hair and dark skin. The girl looked up and jumped a little when she met Isobel's gaze, and she was quick to collect whatever she had left in the dropship. As soon as she was able, she scampered back outside.

Isobel breathed a heavy sigh, rolling her shoulders back.

"I'm gonna take a walk, try to wake up," Isobel told them, standing and moving around the hatch to the ladder. "Close this after me."

"You got it," nodded Octavia. "Think you could grab some more water?"

"Sure," agreed the redhead, climbing down the hatch.

Away from their curious and slightly worried glances, Isobel allowed her shoulders to drop and her eyelids to flutter. She was exhausted. Having been awake for more than twenty four hours, her body was craving sleep, but Isobel refused to give in. She left the dropship, hoping some fresh air would refresh her, help her stay awake longer.

"He's just gonna die anyway," a lazy voice said from behind her. Isobel turned on her heel, spotting Murphy leaning against the side of the dropship, using a knife – though not the yellow one she had seen him carve initials into, strangely – to pick under his fingernails.

"Then he'll die," Isobel said, her voice tight. "I'm not gonna let _you_ be the one to kill him."

"If not me, then who?" he asked, pushing off the ship and sauntering towards her.

"A bitch named infection, at this rate," the redhead frowned, turning to keep her eyes on him as he circled her. "What're you doing?"

"Haven't decided yet," he shrugged. "I'm either going to take you down and then run up there and do what needs to be done, or I'm just gonna annoy you for a while."

"How about neither?" she snarled, shoving him away when he stepped too close to her. Murphy snorted and grinned at her discomfort.

"How're you gonna stop me?" he taunted. Isobel's eyes flashed – he was drawing her into a fight, hoping she'd throw the first punch so he couldn't be blamed. The redhead rolled her eyes at him.

"I'm going to ignore you," she decided, walking past him. "Besides, Octavia already blocked the hatch," she bluffed, but Murphy seemed to be more interested in following her than going back for Jasper.

"Whatever," he sighed. "You look like hell, anyway. When was the last time you slept, wildcat?"

"Do _not_ call me that," Isobel snarled before she could stop herself, mentally cursing for allowing him to bug her so easily. Murphy only smirked.

"What? Wildcat?" he repeated innocently. "It's fierce, like you. Thought you'd like it."

"Well, I don't," she said curtly, stopping at the barrels of water they had gathered. Moving to the open, sterilised barrel, Isobel grabbed one of the bowls nearby and filled it.

"Maybe I should call you 'kitten' instead, since you're so tiny," he sniggered, grinning at her when she scowled.

"You're not even that much taller than me!" she retorted angrily and Murphy shrugged. "Maybe four inches, at most!"

"Every inch counts."

"Keep telling yourself that," Isobel scoffed, quirking an eyebrow at him and he shot her a blank, unamused looked while she struggled to contain a smirk.

"How's the ankle?" asked the boy, looking down at it with raised eyebrows, his question seemingly genuine.

"Fine," Isobel half-lied. She could feel a twinge, but it was alright aside from that. "It kinda hurts, but I can walk on it, at least."

"Guess that's better than having Bellamy and Finn carry you around everywhere," he commented and she rolled her eyes.

"It's not like I _asked_ them to," she muttered, not sure why she was defending herself to him. "I'm just glad no one saw."

"No one saw Bellamy lugging you around," he corrected. "Finn? Yeah, pretty much everyone saw that."

"So?" she asked, shrugging a little. "He was helping me into the dropship. I would rather he hadn't picked me up, but whatever. What does it matter?"

"It doesn't," Murphy replied a little stiffly. "Spacewalker not the answer to all your dreams, then?"

"Not even close," Isobel snorted. "His 'holier-than-thou' thing get real old, real fast, and his tough-guy impression is completely transparent."

"You prefer actual tough guys, then?" he asked smugly, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah, Murphy," Isobel said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Couldn't you tell from all the flirting? You're clearly the one I've been waiting for."

"I knew you'd come around," he grinned in the face of her sarcasm and she couldn't help but let out a small, amused snigger. "You shouldn't get so attached to Jasper, y'know. He's gonna die soon, and it'll only hurt more."

"Seriously?" Isobel scowled, all signs of her previous humour ripped from her expression. "Good job ruining an otherwise entertaining conversation, Murphy."

"It's the truth, wildcat," he insisted. "Whether it's his wound, or Bellamy, or _me_ , he's not getting better."

"Screw you," she hissed at him. "If you go after him again, I will _end you_."

"Now, you see, I don't know whether to believe that or not," he said. "You're tough, sure, but I don't think you're a ruthless killer. Then again, I've seen that pipe of yours. So, wildcat, truth time; what's your crime?"

"…Don't call me that," she mumbled. With her bowl filled, the redhead turned and walked back towards the dropship.

"Going already?" Murphy called after her. She ignored him, choosing instead to hurry back to Jasper.

Arriving at the hatch, Isobel climbed up with one hand and banged on the closed door. "It's me!" she called, Octavia quick to open it after that. Isobel handed her the water and hauled herself back inside, resuming her post at the open hatch.

She sat there for hours as Monty tinkered with the wristbands and Octavia alternated between pacing and checking on Jasper. Isobel wanted nothing more than to return to the injured teen and check on him, too, but she was frightened that something bad would happen if she stopped guarding the hatch. Murphy had already proven that there was at least one person around who wanted Jasper dead.

"Maybe you should get some sleep," Monty suggested, looking over to her and taking in her darkly-ringed eyes.

"Can't," Isobel replied curtly.

"I can keep watch," Octavia stated, altering the direction of her steps to stop beside Isobel, who didn't look up. "If you don't sleep, you'll be useless if Murphy _does_ come back."

"I'll be useless if I'm asleep," she grunted.

"It's getting dark," Monty tried to reason with her. "You've been awake for two days solid, you didn't sleep last night – we both know it. At least get a few hours in."

"No," she said firmly. With a heavy sigh, Octavia leant down to take Isobel's arm, hauling her upwards.

Before she could blink, Octavia found herself pressed with her back to the hard metal floor, Isobel hovering over her. The pipe was in the redhead's clenched fist, the sharp point digging into Octavia's neck, a hair's breadth from breaking skin. The darker-haired teeth struggled not to swallow, or struggle, or do something that would end in pain for her.

"What the hell, Isobel?" yelped Monty, jumping to his feet and rushing over to the girls. He lingered a step away, not sure how to approach the suddenly-violent redhead.

Isobel took a deep breath and blinked, her eyes widening as she seemed, all at once, to come to her senses. She leapt up and away from Octavia, holding the pipe at her side in a looser grip, looking far less threatening. Monty helped Octavia to her feet as the teen rubbed her neck, at a patch of skin that had reddened with irritation.

"Why did you…?" she trailed off, her face a picture of confusion.

"Reflex," Isobel frowned, looking down at her pipe before sighing and tucking it into her belt. "Maybe you're right," she admitted. "I'm gonna get some sleep, before I do something even stupider."

"Good idea," snorted Octavia, flashing the redhead a smile to let her know all was forgiven. Isobel returned the smile and shuffled closer to Jasper, laying close by. She felt her ankle twinge slightly, all but healed, as she shifted to try and get as comfortable as possible.

"They're back!" someone called from outside. Isobel's eyes snapped open the moment they closed and she vaulted up, glancing at Monty as she followed Octavia out of the hatch and outside the dropship.

Clarke, Wells and Finn were back, unscathed. With them, much to Octavia's obvious relief, was Bellamy and his hunting party. Though confused at the sight of a little girl with them, Isobel's main focus was on Clarke, who had a full-looking bag slung over her shoulder

"It's about time," Octavia said impatiently as the pair approached the returning party. "They were gonna kill Jasper."

"Did you get the medicine?" asked Isobel, deeming this more imported.

"Yeah," nodded Clarke, seeming nervous. "I-I got it. C'mon, let's go talk," she added, taking Octavia's shoulder and trying to turn her back into the dropship.

Noticing someone laid out with a jacket over their face – someone tall and unmoving – Isobel darted forwards, moving past the campfire and towards Bellamy and the form on the make-shift gurney. Behind her, she head Octavia doing the same, though she was stopped from getting to it by her brother's hands on her shoulders. Isobel, meanwhile, passed him and stood beside it, looking down at the covered form. A jacket covered his face, though she could see dark, curly hair above it.

"Octavia, just stay there," warned Bellamy as gently as he could, though his voice was shaky. "Please, just stay back."

"Why?" she demanded as Bellamy kept her back. "Bell, stop," she frowned, pushing his hands away and stepping beside Isobel. Octavia knelt down and pulled back the jacket, her breath catching in her throat. "Atom," she whispered in realisation.

His face looked as though the skin had peel away from itself, and there was a knife wound in his neck, near his ear. Isobel looked down at him, scrutinising his wounds, realising quickly that the knife had likely been mercy, though she did not know at whose hand. Octavia, however, seemed to be blinded by her emotion – she recalled the younger teen's confession that Atom was more to her than her brother-assigned guard.

"There was nothing I could do," Bellamy said quickly, pain and desperation filling his voice, but Octavia only raised a hand to silence him.

"Don't," she demanded. Octavia looked at Atom for a moment longer, anger and pain crossing her expression before she covered his face again and stood, charging back towards the dropship.

"O," Bellamy attempted to catch her, to explain, "O, please."

"Don't," she said again, brushing off his attempts. Isobel watched her go and saw Bellamy collect himself as Murphy glided over, smirking towards the redhead, who glared back.

"Lose anyone here?" the oldest amongst them asked.

"No," replied Murphy.

"Jasper?"

"Still breathing," Murphy sighed as Isobel's glare worsened.

"No thanks to you," she snarled, stepped forwards.

"Easy, wildcat," he grinned. She darted towards him, ready to hit him, but Bellamy held her back, pushing her behind him and keeping his arm between them.

"What happened?" asked Bellamy, seeing the obvious anger between the two.

"I tried to take him out," Murphy explained, "but your psycho little sister –"

He was cut when Bellamy shoved him suddenly, grabbing his collar and pulling him back as he continued pushing him backwards, clearly pissed.

"My what?" he asked. "My what?" his volume grew when Murphy didn't answer in the half-second provided. Isobel moved forwards, pulling Bellamy back so he released Murphy. Now freed, Murphy's expression dropped from surprised to unimpressed, though he was smart enough not to fan Bellamy's anger.

"Your little sister," said Murphy impassively.

"Yeah, that's right," he nodded, still angry. "My little sister. Got anything else you want to say about her?"

"Nothing," the teen said blankly, clearly not meaning a word he said. "Sorry."

"Get out of here, Murphy," said Isobel, more of a warning than an order, and Murphy, though still holding an almost-sarcastic look on his face, did as he was told. She turned to Bellamy, stepping in front of him to stop him going after Murphy if he decided to. The people around them, who had stopped to see the show, began to disperse.

"Get him out of here," Bellamy said to two other teens, gesturing to Atom's body. They obeyed, picking up the gurney and carrying it towards where Wells dug the over graves. Bellamy went to walk away, but Isobel caught his arm.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked softly, moving in front of him again.

"Sorry," he said to her, lowering his eyes to the ground before he rubbed his face. "I…I shouldn't have…"

"You should've punched him," Isobel stated unwaveringly, "but you didn't, and now it'd look vengeful instead of heat-of-the-moment. Let it go."

"He called her –"

"I heard him," she cut him off. "Honestly, Octavia _is_ a little psycho, but only in the best of ways," she smirked when he met her eye, a small smile spreading across his face. Suddenly, it seemed easier to talk to him, like her previous anger had diminished her attraction enough to rid her of her nerves.

"You should probably get back to the dropship," he suggested with a sigh, shaking his head. Nodding, Isobel moved past him, but Bellamy caught her elbow before she could leave. "I'm sorry…for what I said before, about Jasper."

"…Don't worry about it," Isobel said quietly, knowing he had enough on his plate with Octavia without her adding her own anger to the mix.

"I shouldn't have said it," he continued.

"No, you shouldn't," she agreed, "but you did. It's in the past, let's just leave it there."

Before she could give in to her tongue-tied nervousness again, Isobel made a hasty retreat, heading in the direction she saw Wells go. He'd looked upset and she didn't want to leave him like that.

"Hey," she called when she spotted him, leaned up against the tree the pair had set up their makeshift tents beside. "You alright?"

"Clarke hates me," he sighed, dropping his head into his hands. "She's never going to forgive me."

"For what?" Isobel frowned, lowering until she was sat beside him. "What did you do?"

"She thinks I'm the reason her father got floated," Wells replied, not looking at her.

"You aren't, though, right?" the redhead asked and Wells sighed, confirming her thoughts. "Why not tell her?"

"The truth is way worse," he said. "I'd rather let her hate me."

"You're a good friend," Isobel assured him, leaning into his side as he instinctively wrapped an arm around her. "I'm lucky to have you."

"Feeling's mutual," he snorted, eyes snapping towards her when he felt her arms wrap around his waist. "Isobel?"

"You looked like you could use a hug," she replied gently, resting her head on his chest. "It's what friends do, right?" she asked, though he could tell by her tone that she genuinely wasn't sure.

"Yeah, it is," he nodded, tightening his hold on her for a moment before they released each other. "I think I'm gonna start a watch. Keep an eye on the perimeter, make sure what happened to Jasper doesn't happen to anyone else."

"You sure?" she asked with a frown. "It sounds dangerous. Want some help?"

"No, you should go to Jasper," he told her. "I can manage on my own. Maybe I can convince one of the guys in Bellamy's gang to help out."

"Not likely," she scoffed. "I'll help. We'll do a circle of the camp, and then sit facing where the Grounder territory is. It's where they'd most likely come from."

"Good idea," he nodded. "I'll be sure to do that, while you're with Jasper."

"I'm staying with you!" Isobel snapped. "Jasper has Octavia, and Clarke, and Monty. I'm not leaving you on your own out here."

"There's plenty of people around. I'll shout if I need help," he smiled. "I'd rather you were with Jasper. At least until your ankle heals."

"My ankle is fine," she insisted, but Wells wasn't buying it.

"It's better, but I saw the little limp you still have," he told her. "Trust me on this. You can do all the patrols you want, after you heal."

"Man, you're strict," Isobel grumbled, getting to her feet. "Yes, boss."

"I knew you'd come around," he grinned up at her.

"Yeah, yeah," she sighed. "I'm gonna check on Jasper. See you later?"

"Tomorrow," he corrected. "It's probably better if you stay in the dropship. I know I'd feel better knowing you were safe in there."

"Overprotective," Isobel muttered, turning to head to the ship.

"Just protective enough!" Wells retorted, chuckling. Isobel rolled her eyes, despite the smile, and continued to the dropship.

Getting there quickly, she duck inside and climbed up the hatch. Clarke, Octavia, Monty and Finn were already up there, gathered around Jasper. The red seaweed was in a pot of hot water, which Finn was stirring while Clarke checked on Jasper's condition.

"I don't think he's gotten worse," Isobel supplied, "but…he hasn't gotten any better."

"We can't expect him to without the medicine," Clarke replied. "It's good that he hasn't gotten worse, though."

"He strong," the redhead smiled, feeling proud of him for some reason. Clarke and Octavia shared her expression as Isobel moved closer, kneeling between the two girls, with the darker haired teen supporting Jasper's head in her lap.

"How's it coming?" asked Octavia, her voice strained from holding back tears.

Not replying, Clarke, poured some of the seaweed-tea into a cup, allowing it to cool slightly, before she brought it over. Isobel moved slightly so the blonde could feed Jasper the tea, which he drank down quickly. Clarke glanced up at Octavia a few times as she sat back.

"I'm really sorry about Atom," she said sadly. Octavia's expression pinched, but she didn't allow herself to cry.

"I guess we're gonna have to get used to people dying down here," she responded bluntly, glancing at Clarke, "aren't we?"

"Not him," mused Isobel, her eyes on Jasper. Octavia looked at her before looking back down, a strained smile on her face.

"Right," she agreed, stroking his hair. "You're not allowed to die," she added to Jasper, pressing a cool cloth to his neck as he groaned quietly. Clarke, Monty and Finn watched the girls as Isobel took Jasper's hand, holding it between her own.

Clarke left soon after that. When Jasper showed no signs of waking up, the teens in the dropship moved around, leaning in a half-circle against a nearby wall. Finn moved the lantern between them so they all had some light, before he moved back to lean against an arch in the wall, Monty next to him, then Isobel, with Octavia across the way. Spacewalker, in the silence, pull out a glass bottle and took a swig, gaining their attention.

"What's that?" asked Isobel, eyeing the bottle curiously.

"Whiskey," Finn half-grinned, holding it out. "Wanna try it?"

"Sure," nodded Monty, taking the bottle. He held it for a moment before taking a swig, wincing as the liquid went down. "Smooth," he coughed, holding it out for Isobel. She took it and sniffed at it before wincing.

"I don't think so," she cringed. "I am not drinking anything that smells that bad," she added, handing it to Octavia, who drank some without hesitation.

"Disgusting," she grunting, giving it back to Finn. "Love it."

"Can I, uh," he paused, clearing his throat, while everyone just stared, "get a hit of that?"

"Jasper!" cried Monty as they all stood, Finn putting down the bottle as they made their way over.

"Let's start with the soft stuff," joked Finn, grabbing a bottle-bag of water and holding up Jasper's head as he drank. "Welcome back, buddy," he added, lowing his head again.

Octavia could only smile, relief letting her shoulders sag, while Isobel was scanning Jasper's expression for pain. He was still pale, his voice was weak, but awake was better than unconscious. She allowed herself a small smile – Clarke's medicine was doing the trick. Monty moved forwards, clasping hands with Jasper.

"Was that a dream," he began weakly, "or did I get speared?"

"You'll have a very impressive scar to prove it," promised Clarke as she climbed the hatch, sounding relieved and looking happy.

"My saviour," Jasper croaked with a smile.

"Thank you for not dying," said Clarke, expressing what everyone in the room was feeling. "I don't think I could've taken that today."

"I'll try not to die tomorrow, too, if that's cool," he told them, the smile never leaving his face. Octavia placed a hand on his arm and he lolled his head over, looking between the two girls at his side. "Oh, hello," he chirped.

Relieved laughter fluttered in the air. Jasper was alive, and healing. His eyes closed and he went back to sleep, but it was clear that being awake at all had drained him. He would get stronger in time.

Isobel should have known by now, though. Good things never last.


	7. Wishing Wells

Chapter Seven: Wishing Wells

Isobel sat atop the drop ship, hands rested on her weapons – her pipe tucked into her belt, and a new make-shift knife on the other side – as she looked down over the camp below.

 _.: "Hey, you not going out there?" :._

It was a flurry of activity, with everyone working to build the wall as quickly as possible. While previously reluctant to do anything except play and screw around to their heart's content, all the delinquents seemed to be bonded together and motivated to work.

 _.: "I could always use the company. Not many people here are willing to spend five minutes with me." :._

Her fists clenched and she grit her teeth. They were scared, with good reason, and they knew the wall could help. No one argued, everyone pitched in. No one wanted to end up like…

 _.: "I'm Wells. Wells Jaha." :._

Grounders killed Wells.

They'd found his body just outside their perimeter at sunup, a stab wound in his neck and two of his fingers cut off. He had offered to take watch – something he had wanted set up to _prevent_ this, to keep the newly-discovered Grounders from hurting anyone else. Isobel had wanted to sit with him, to keep him company – to protect him – but he had insisted she tend to Jasper instead.

Jasper, who had her, Finn, Octavia, Monty, and Clarke for company.

Wells, who'd had no one when he died.

The tears she had managed to keep back began leaking out of her eyes, burning as they fell, and she cursed to herself, wiping them away on the sleeve of the jacket Wells had given her, taken from the body of a dead teenager. His own corpse had been picked clean – they needed the clothes, the boots, and Wells was dead. He had no need for dignity when others were freezing.

Clarke had cried for hours, grieving her recently forgiven friend. Finn, in an attempt to either avenge Wells or comfort Clarke, had taken to scouting the woods at night, searching for anyone lingering too close to camp. No one else really knew Wells, really connected with him. He went, mostly, unmissed, no one mourning his passing as they used the firewood he'd gathered, drank the rainwater he'd collected.

She had removed herself from the camp instantly, using the exposed pipes and grooves in the sides of the drop ship as hand- and foot-holds so she could climb to the ledge just before the top level and look over the settlement. A short ladder climb had her at the top, with an all-around view. From there, she saw everyone in the camp, and everyone coming and going. No one could sneak up on them while she was up there, watching.

 _.: "It's…It really is amazing out there, Isobel." :._

The few times she came down she spent with Octavia, Jasper, and Monty. Both girls had helped Jasper find his feet again, and coaxed him out of the dropship and into the sun. Octavia was kind, but blunt, and the only girl Isobel ever befriended. Jasper was sweet and funny, and often dedicated hours to making her smile. Monty was ever observant, able to change the topic of conversation when he saw her start to retreat, bringing her back to them.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Murphy?" she heard someone yell from below.

"So many things," she muttered to herself as she swung her leg over the ledge, climbing down the ladder and descending the side of the ship, dropping the final short distance and landing on her feet.

"I'll kill you!" the same voice proclaimed and Isobel frowned.

"What's going on?" she demanded, marching forwards as she took in the scene.

Murphy stood, smug and victorious, a few steps from another teen – Conner, if she remembered correctly – who was being held back by two other boys. They struggled with him, so he was either very strong or very determined. Knowing Murphy, Isobel guessed the latter.

"He wanted a water break," Murphy defended with a smirk. Isobel gave him a confused frown as she looked over to Conner for further explanation. The boy was flustered, more than a little angry, with his cheeks puffed and his eyes wide.

"He pissed on me!" he roared and the redhead sneered.

"That's disgusting," she uttered, glancing over at Murphy in disgust. "You, stay the hell away from him, and play nice. Everyone else, get the hell back to work!"

"Yes, ma'am," Murphy saluted sarcastically. Conner, unsatisfied with the lack of justice, almost growled.

"You're not going to punish him?" he demanded, causing Murphy and Isobel to both stop.

"Punish him?" she spat. "Who the hell do you think I am? Some kind of guard? A watch-dog to keep an eye on this asshole?"

"No need for name-calling, wildcat," scoffed Murphy, folding his arms over his chest as he turned back to Conner. "She doesn't get to _punish_ me, idiot. No one does."

"Let it go, both of you," Isobel said, sighing. "I'll bring it up with Bellamy," she added to Conner, who at least seemed a little happier with this result. He snarled once more at Murphy before walking away, the crowd dispersing after him.

"Geez, maybe we should call you 'law keeper' from now on," Murphy snorted, smirking down at her. She returned the looked with a glare.

"Shut up, Murphy," she spat at him. "You need to stop pissing people off, or they're gonna go for the…" she trailed off, feeling cold when she realised what she was about to say.

"Go for the throat?" he finished for her, frowning at the hate-filled look she gave him. "It's been a week, wildcat. You've gotta get over it."

"I _am_ over it," she lied, to him, to herself; she wasn't sure. Murphy only shook his head at her.

"Most people would believe you," he sighed. "Hell, most people don't seem to think you gave a damn from the start, but I know you're not the type to hide away if you didn't care."

"You don't know me," Isobel snapped. "You don't know anything about me."

"Your mother died when you were a kid, and your father was a nasty piece of work," he said quickly and Isobel's eyes widened as she drew back, away from the truth he was speaking. She glanced around, but no one was paying them any mind.

"Who did you talk to?" she demanded. "Did Bellamy tell you?"

"No one had to tell me – I already knew," he scoffed. "I figured it out. You're the kid from Factory Station who was pulled out of school when you were around seven or eight. Your mom died, and then your dad kept you home."

"…how…?"

"You were in my class," he explained. "I remember my parents talking about the girl who stopped going to school because her mom died and you were the only kid not going anymore. No one really saw you after that, since you didn't even really hang out with your friends anymore, so we all kinda forgot."

"What made you remember?" she asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

"You kept to yourself after Wells was killed," he shrugged. "Same as when your mom died."

"That's a big leap," she muttered, scowling at him as he half-smirked.

"I guess, but I was right, wasn't I?" he snorted. "I'm kinda surprised not more people made the connection. Then again, not everyone's too observant."

"Yeah, well, probably better they aren't," she sighed, rubbing a hand over her face.

"Why?" he frowned. "Because then they'd all know what you did to get lock up?"

"What?" she breathed, head snapping back up to meet his knowing eyes. "You know?"

"Everyone knew it happened, they just didn't know who did it," he nodded. "We all assumed it was another adult, and they were floated. The name, though – that why you don't tell people your last name?"

"Drop it," she warned, though her voice was almost pleading.

"I won't tell," he assured her. "Honestly, I don't care. Just wanted to see if I was right, which I am," he grinned.

"You're an asshole," she hissed, shoving him back. Murphy shot forwards, ready for a fight, but Isobel was already moving awake from him.

"Maybe be a little nicer! Wouldn't want word spreading around!" he warned loudly, watching Isobel look over her shoulder and glare at him. He scoffed, glancing around to make sure no one had seen her push him, before he went back to supervising the wall build.

Isobel, meanwhile, was headed back for the ship.

 _.: "Retreating back inside?" :._

She flinched, shaking her head to rid it of his voice. She needed to be away from everyone; they had started looking to her, as Connor had, to be some kind of Justice. As one of the few who stood up to Murphy, and the only one he ever seemed to back away from when she did so, it seemed that the camp had unanimously voted her in as their 'Murphy Watch', expecting her to retaliate every time he pissed someone off.

Honestly, if she had any intention of doing so, it would be a full-time occupation.

With him knowing about her past, there wasn't much she could do anyway. All he'd need to do to get back at her was say one word – her surname. Then, they'd all know her for the monster she was. Jasper would be afraid of her, and Monty would likely never talk to her again. She didn't know how Octavia would react, but she didn't even want to think about losing the only friends she had now that Wells was gone.

"Octavia?" Jasper's voice cried from the gate. Hearing him, Isobel's eyes snapped up, spotting the boy stood twitchily by the open gate, staring out into the forest beyond. When he rushed outside, Isobel's steps turned into a sprint.

"Jasper!" she yelled, trying to catch him. The last thing she needed was to lose him, too.

"Octavia, are you okay?" he yelped. Isobel watched as Octavia emerged from behind a log, fighting off a laughing teenage boy, who had his hand over her mouth.

"Hey, jerk!" she snapped at him, shoving him away as he continued to laugh.

Jasper shied away, embarrassed and afraid. He had been frightened to leave the dropship at first, Octavia and Isobel slowly coaxing him out. While the redhead was happy to leave it when he had poked his head out into the sunlight, Octavia wanted to take it further, trying to get him to leave camp. Isobel hadn't helped, hoping deep down that Jasper would stay in the walls, where she could keep him safe.

Clearly, this was another attempt – successful, in a manner of speaking – to get Jasper out of the camp. Isobel guessed at the rest – Octavia had left, this boy had grabbed her to scare Jasper, and it had worked.

Octavia was angry, yelling at the boy. Jasper was humiliated, trying to retreat.

Isobel was murderous.

"Issy?" gasped Jasper when she charged past him, clearly only just realising she had witnessed the tasteless prank.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she snarled, shoving the boy back. He sobered instantly, but didn't back down.

"It was a joke!" he defended, throwing his hands up. Isobel only growled, throwing a fist straight into his face. He went down, his arms thrown up around his face, but Isobel turned to kicking his abdomen instead.

"Never again," she hissed at him, kicking his ribs. He shifted, trying to stop her, so she pulled back and delivered a hard kick to his face.

His head snapped back, nose bloody, eyes closed in unconsciousness. Isobel looked down at him, breathing heavily, mind screaming at her to _make him suffer_.

He had scared Jasper, ruined a careful week of mental recovery. He had angered Octavia, the only girl who had ever offered her unconditional friendship. He thought it was funny; he laughed; he didn't save Wells.

Wells was dead. Wells was dead because this guy didn't take guard duty. Wells was dead when he could have been saved. He was alone. She had left him alone.

She drew her foot back to deliver another kick to his face.

"Isobel, you're gonna kill him!" shrieked Octavia.

"Issy!"

It was Jasper's voice that snapped her out of it.

She looked down at her boots, covered in blood and dirt. She looked at the boy, his eyes closed and his face bloody, and she staggered back, tripping on the uneven ground and falling on her back.

 _.: "Thanks for jumping in. You're kinda badass, you know that?" :._

Another sharp shake of her head – a useless effort to dislodge the memory of him.

"Hey, are you okay?" asked Octavia as she rushed to help her. Jasper lingered by the gate, afraid, and Isobel felt sick when those fear-filled eyes locked on hers.

Isobel shoved the hands away, standing on her own.

"I'm fine," she snapped, stepping away from Octavia. The darker-haired girl seemed hurt, and Isobel sighed. "I'm fine," she added, softer, as she glanced back at the boy she had beaten. "We need to get him to Clarke."

"We'll help you," Octavia agreed, turning to Jasper, who was already retreating back into the camp. "Jasper, come on," she pleaded, walked after him. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

Jasper tripped over a branch and landed on his face, both girls hurrying to check on him. Octavia reached him first, both she and the boy freezing as they spotted something on the ground. Isobel knelt beside Jasper, going to help him up, when she followed his gaze and saw it, too.

A knife fashioned of metal from the ship, striped with yellow paint. A very familiar knife.

Not too far away, two dark-skinned fingers.

Octavia and Jasper stared in silence, while Isobel snarled.

"It wasn't a Grounder."

After this revelation, Jasper picked himself up and shakily moved towards the objects on the ground. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and hesitantly picked up the fingers and the knife, wrapping it all up and out of sight. The girls watched him do this and, when he was done, they turned back to gather up the boy unfortunate enough to incur Isobel's wrath.

"C'mon," Octavia said as they began hauling him. "We'll get him inside, then we'll get Clarke and my brother. They'll know what to do."

"Sure," Isobel agreed half-heartedly.

The pair carried the boy into the dropship, basically dropping him once they were inside, Jasper wandering off to find Bellamy and Clarke. Though unwilling to let him die, neither were feeling particularly gentle towards the boy who had frightened Jasper.

"Whoa," Monty gaped, walking over to them. "What happened to him?"

"He fell," Isobel replied automatically. Octavia gave her a strange look and she sighed, shaking her head. "I didn't mean to."

" _You_ did that?" the boy yelped, getting a better look at her handiwork, taking in the swelling bruising and oozing wounds. "Someone should tell Murphy to stop getting on your bad side."

"Murphy can take it," the redhead said, the closest thing to a compliment she could achieve when discussing everyone's least-favourite campmate. "Jasper went to get Clarke. He'll be fine."

"What did he do?" was Monty's next question. Before they could reply, Jasper walked in, followed by Clarke and, surprisingly, Finn and Bellamy. Isobel mentally groaned, not prepared for the questions that were going to be thrown her way.

"What did you do to him?" murmured Clarke as she approached, crouching down by the boy.

"She hit him," Jasper replied helpfully. Isobel had to smile at his almost sarcastic response, but Clarke's unimpressed face made her stop.

"He…provoked me," she excused, seeing the look of surprise on Bellamy's face when he scanned the boy's injuries.

"Must've been bad," he said with a whistle.

"Nothing's _that_ bad," countered Finn, his patronising expression almost more than Isobel could take. Since Wells' death, her fuse had shortened to nearly non-existent.

"It was," defended Octavia. "He was picking on Jasper."

"Being a bully doesn't excuse this," Clarke stated, assessing the extent of the damage. "He'll be hurting, a lot and for a long time."

"Good," Octavia sneered. "Let him suffer."

"Octavia!" scolded Bellamy.

"He'll live, though," the blonde assured them. "Nothing's broken, luckily, but he'll have some nasty bruises.

"I…" Isobel's voice caught as her nerves calmed and she sighed. "I didn't mean to hurt him that bad. I meant to punch him, sure, but…I just lost it. He didn't _deserve_ it. Not _that_ , anyway."

"It doesn't matter," Octavia decided with a frown. "We have more important things to worry about."

"Like what?" Clarke asked, unable to think of anything more important than trying to discern whether or not Isobel would try to kill someone else in a blind rage.

"This," Jasper answered, pulling out the handkerchief and showing Clarke the knife and fingers. She leapt to her feet, taking the cloth from him and folding it back up.

"Let's go to my tent," suggested Bellamy, sensing the need for privacy.

"Stay with him," said the blonde, directing her words to Finn as she gestured to the beaten boy. Monty looked as though he wanted to follow, too, but he stayed to work on the wristbands.

Bellamy led the procession out and towards his set-up, heading in with Clarke close behind him. She laid the item out on the table in the centre of the room as she and Bellamy leaned in the get a better look, Octavia, Jasper and Isobel looking around their expressions. The blonde looked closely at the knife, avoiding looking at the fingers.

With a sigh, she picked up the knife, looking at it closely. A frown covered her face; she was clearly coming to the same conclusion Isobel already had.

"This knife was made of metal from the dropship," she announced. Jasper stilled instantly, fear flashing in his eyes. Isobel was quiet, knowing who the knife belonged to, but unable to throw the accusation.

"What do you mean?" he asked, the words barely tumbling out of his mouth.

"Who else knows about this?" Bellamy asked them, eyes still locked on the fingers.

"No one," Octavia replied. "We brought it straight here."

"Clarke?" prompted Jasper, sounding more timid than before. He knew the answer, he just needed it voiced. Isobel carefully wrapped her hand around his and squeezed, trying to comfort him. He held back tightly.

"It means the grounders didn't kill Wells," Clarke confirmed and Isobel grit her teeth at hearing the name. "It was one of us."

"So, there's a murderer in the camp?" Jasper asked weakly after a moment of pause, his eyes flickering around as though said murderer would pop out and get him next.

"There's more than one murderer in this camp," Bellamy said as though it were a reassurance. "This isn't news. We need to keep it quiet," he decided, fully prepared for the discussion to end there.

"We should at least find out who did it," Isobel suggested, glancing at the dark-haired man as she let go of Jasper's hand. "Keep a closer eye on them, or lock them up, or _something_."

"Why?" asked Bellamy, raising his eyebrows. "Everyone's pulling together against a more _dangerous_ enemy because they think grounders killed Wells. We tell them it was one of our own and everyone's out for blood. We lose trust, we lose progress, and we will _die_."

"Maybe we deserve to die, then," the redhead hissed, ignoring the looks of shock on Octavia and Jasper's faces. "If we're the kind of people who can overlook _murder_ , the kind who willingly, _knowingly_ , harbour someone who killed one of our own, then maybe we don't deserve to live."

"Like you tried to prove on Mbege?" he snapped back and Isobel tensed, pulling back instantly. He seemed to falter for a moment when she flinched back from him, but continued to prove his point. "You beat the hell outta him – for what? A bad prank? You want some kind of law and order down here, maybe you shouldn't be so keen on dolling out unjust punishments whenever you see fit."

"I didn't _kill_ him," she defended herself weakly. Clarke made up her own mind and gripped the knife tightly, moving towards the tent entrance, but Bellamy stepped into her path, holding up his hands to stop her.

"Get out of my way, Bellamy," she warned lowly.

"Be smart about this," Bellamy implored, looking between the stubborn blonde and the aggressive redhead, and knowing full well that they could possibly destroy the unstable peace in the camp. "Look at what we've achieved; the wall, the patrols. Like it or not, thinking the grounders killed Wells is good for us."

"Oh, good for you, you mean," scoffed Clarke, even as Isobel's mind began to wrap around Bellamy's words. "What? Keep people afraid and they'll work for you? Is that it?"

"Yeah, that's it," he agreed, glancing at Isobel as he saw her offensive stance draw back. "But it's good for all of us. Fear of the grounders is building that wall."

"Let it go, Clarke," Isobel muttered, her eyes tired and her voice hollow. The blonde turned with wide, stunned eyes.

"You were just as adamant about this two seconds ago!" she insisted, but Isobel only sighed.

 _.: "Seriously? That's it? No grand stand-off, no stubborn refusal?" :._

"I _hate_ this, I really, _really_ do," she said through gritted teeth, "but Bellamy's right. If we expose a killer, in our own ranks, no one will take the grounder threat seriously anymore. We need to finish our work here, to establish a strong settlement for ourselves, before we can introduce justice and punishment."

"Oh, please," Clarke snarled. "You're only agreeing with him because you're basically in _love_ with him! You know this is wrong!"

Everyone in the tent froze at her statement and Isobel's blue eyes widened as they latched onto Clarke, mind racing, wondering how she could have possibly known. She thought about Octavia – the only other person who knew, the only other person _alive_ – but didn't want to believe that her friend had betrayed her trust. Bellamy, meanwhile, had looked to Isobel, waiting for the denial, for the scathing remark, but it never came.

"Hey!" yelled Octavia, stepping up to defend the redhead. "What happened to Wells is horrible, but they're _right_. You can't take it out on Isobel, just because you're not getting your own way!"

"Besides," Bellamy cut in again, looking away from the redhead as she directed her gaze to the ground, "what're you gonna do? Just walk out there and ask the killer to step forward? You don't even know whose knife that is."

"Oh, really?" Clarke asked smugly. "J.M. – John Murphy," she declared, presenting the engraving on the inside of the knife. "The people have a right to know."

"You're wrong," Isobel said suddenly, glancing at the knife. "He's an asshole, but he's not –"

"A murderer?" interrupted Clarke. "You and I both know he's more than capable."

"He's not an _idiot_ ," Isobel corrected. "There's only two ways Murphy would kill someone – publicly, or without leaving clues. He's not sloppy enough to leave his _own knife_ right next to…" she trailed off, closing her eyes. "Be smart, Clarke – Murphy isn't our guy, and you have no idea who is."

"I have a pretty good idea," Clarke corrected with a scowl, shoving her way out of the tent.

"Clarke!" shouted Isobel, darting after her with Bellamy, Octavia and Jasper close behind.

"You son of a bitch!" yelled Clarke, pushing past another boy to shove Murphy in the chest, startling him. John Mbege stood slightly behind him, face bruised, but awake and alive and Isobel felt a little relieved.

"What's your problem?" asked Murphy, straightening himself with a slightly chuckle. Clarke wasn't a threat to him and, judging by how Isobel was watching the blonde, he guessed she wouldn't be against him.

"Recognise this?" Clarke snapped at him, holding the knife up.

"That's my knife. Where'd you find it?" he questioned, reaching to take it back, but Clarke moved it away quickly.

"Where you dropped it after you killed Wells," she stated and everything went quiet all at once. The delinquents who, until this point, had one ear trained on the altercation, were now unmoving, their undivided attention directed towards Clarke and Murphy.

"Where I _what_?" he retorted after a moment of silence, his voice hard and defensive but not that of a liar. Nervously, he glanced around and took a step towards Clarke. "The _grounders_ killed Wells, not me."

"I know what you did," Clarke continued, clearly distressed and ignoring his contradiction. "And you're gonna pay for it."

"Really?" he drawled mockingly. Murphy looked up, easily finding his leader stood in the crowd behind the blonde, beside Isobel. "Bellamy, you really believe this crap?"

Bellamy, arms folded, merely shifted his footing and stared Murphy down, letting him know he would find no help there. Isobel turned and stared at him with wide eyes before taking a few, subtle steps towards Murphy, sensing the growing tension in the crowd. Despite what he had said in the tent, he was clearly going to let Clarke have the lead on this one.

"You threatened to kill him," Clarke said, her grief spilling into her tone, "We all heard you! You _hated_ Wells."

" _Plenty_ of people hated Wells," Murphy said truthfully, his voice rising as he tried to stop the mob from forming against him. "His father was the chancellor that locked us up."

"Yeah, you you're the only one who got in a knife fight with him," the blonde interrupted heatedly.

"Yeah, I didn't kill him then, either," he reminded them.

"Tried to kill Jasper, too," Octavia cut in.

"What?" muttered the boy in question. The tension was palpable, and Isobel knew Murphy couldn't recover from this on his own.

"Oh, come on, this is _ridiculous_ ," Murphy scoffed, moving around Clarke and aiming to walk away from the dangerous situation. "I don't have to answer to you," he shot at her. "I don't have to answer to _anyone_!"

"Come again?" Bellamy said, raising an eyebrow. Murphy turned, pinning his leader with an almost pleading look.

"Bellamy," he began, quieter, as he walked towards the older man, stopping just in front of him, Isobel now at his side. "Look, I'm telling you, man," he implored honestly. "I didn't do this."

"They found his fingers on the ground with your knife," replied the ex-guard, just as quietly, but with no sign of mercy.

"That doesn't prove anything," Isobel frowned and Murphy shot her a suspicious, but grateful, look.

"Is this the kind of society that we want?" Clarke questioned loudly, looking around at the quickly angering mob. "You say there should be no rules," she addressed Bellamy. "Does that mean that we can kill each other without…without punishment?"

"I already told you," yelled Murphy, slightly panicked now as he approached her again. "I didn't kill anyone!"

"I say we float him," decided Conner, clearly still angry about earlier. Clarke looked back at him while Murphy froze, fear in his eyes but self-righteous anger on his face. The mob was agreeing, bloodlust shooting through the gathered crowd, and Isobel became a coil, ready to spring.

"That's not what I'm saying," rejected Clarke in an attempt to defuse the situation she started.

"Why not?" Conner demanded. "He deserves to float. It's justice."

With the crowd closing in, yelling their agreement and showing their anger, Murphy began to shift, looking around for an exit route. Isobel stepped up beside him, glancing around for any sympathetic or reluctant faces that might help, but came up empty.

"Revenge isn't justice," Clarke attempted again.

"It's justice." Conner began chanting, incensing the crowd. "Float him! Float him!"

" _Float him! Float him! Float him!_ "

The crowd had irreparably turned and Murphy did the first thing to come to mind. He lunged at Conner, but before he could make a step, someone had tripped him. The mob descended on his prone form, dragging him up, and Isobel leapt forwards, pulling them off him. She managed one or two before their sheer numbers overwhelmed her.

"Leave him alone!" she cried, throwing punches now. "He didn't _do_ anything!"

The delinquents beat Murphy to the ground, gagging him with red fabric and tying his hands behind his back. Isobel surged through them, managing to make it to the accused and shove them all away from him. The crowd stilled around her, all rage-filled eyes and tensed muscles, and for a moment Isobel was afraid that they would turn on her next.

"Back off!" she warned. "He says he didn't do it. You have no _proof_!"

"Never needed proof on The Ark!" someone yelled from the crowd.

"This isn't The Ark, this is Earth!" Isobel shouted back. "There's _enough_ trying to kill us down here without us killing each other. Murphy said he didn't do it, and we can't prove he did. He's an asshole, but he said he didn't kill anyone. You can't float him for being unlikeable."

Thinking, mistakenly, that no one would oppose her, Isobel turned and leaned down to untie Murphy, only to have a boot shoved into her back. She was kicked away and landed beside Murphy. Their eyes met, his full of fear and her own an almost match, before she was kicked again and he was hoisted up and carried off, the crowd roaring in victory.

"Isobel!" yelled Octavia as she came skidding to a stop beside the redhead, helping her up. "Are you okay?"

"Hey, you alright?" asked Bellamy, eyes roaming her for any sign of serious injury as Octavia helped her up. Isobel winced and clutched at her side, where the second boot had landed, before ignoring the siblings and limping after the murderous mob.

"You can't do this!" cried Clarke, trying to help even as they threw a rope over a tall branch and prepared a noose. "Get off me," she grunted as Conner shoved her back.

"No!" screamed Isobel as they strung him up. Someone grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms and lifting her flailing feet off the ground, and she was in too much pain to do more than weakly struggle. He was put on a large box, body twisted in pain as he stretched to stop the rope from cutting off his air.

"You can stop this!" Clarke yelled at Bellamy, shoving him to break him out of the shocked trance seeing Murphy's twitching form had prompted. "They'll listen to you!"

"Get him down!" Isobel shouted at them. "Bellamy, stop them!"

"Bellamy!" Conner turned, pointing at the oldest of them. "You should do it!"

" _Bellamy! Bellamy! Bellamy!_ "

"I saw you in the woods with Atom," Clarke insisted. "I know you're not a killer!"

Clarke begged, Murphy pleaded through his gag, and Bellamy ignored them.

They chanted his name as he strode towards the boy he had called his friend, looking up into plea-filled eyes, and kicked the box out from under him.

Murphy's hanging was met with cheering and celebration, and Isobel was dropped in favour of applauding. She rushed forwards to cut Murphy down, only for Bellamy to grab her around the chest and hold her fast. His face was solemn, his eyes angry, and his words directed at Clarke even as he held Isobel in a way that was becoming less restrictive and more comforting, but she was still tense in his arms.

"This is on you, princess," he hissed at the blonde. "You should've kept your mouth shut."

"What the hell are you doing?" demanded Finn as he shoved his way through the teens. "Cut him down! Charlotte, get out of here, now," he yelled at a young child who was standing in the crowd. Octavia rushed forwards to get her out of there, but she struggled. "Cut him down!" he got closer and Conner pulled out a sharpened screw. "Get out of my way!"

"Stop! Okay!" screeched Charlotte, breaking out of Octavia's grip. "Murphy didn't kill Wells! I did!"


	8. Choke

Chapter Eight: Choke

" _Stop! Okay!" screeched Charlotte, breaking out of Octavia's grip. "Murphy didn't kill Wells! I did!"_

"Oh, my God," gasped Clarke, the only noise to permeate the deafening silence.

She unhooked an axe from the belt of a nearby teen and cut the rope holding Murphy. Finn caught him and dug his fingers under the rope, loosening it until the wrongly-accused Murphy gasped for breath through his gag. Isobel pushed away Bellamy's arms and darted towards Murphy, ripping the gag from his mouth and helping him to sit up.

His eyes were wild, his breaths coming in raspy pants. Nothing seemed to make sense to him in that moment and, as she met his eyes, she saw pure, genuine fear. Murphy had thought he was dead, almost come to terms with giving in to the darkness that the mass of people had cheered for him to meet. Then, the rush of oxygen and relief seemed to begin to calm him, though his breathing was still rough.

Realisation was beginning to dawn and the panic in his eyes was giving way to fury.

"It's okay. You're okay, just breathe," she said gently, quietly, as she rubbed his back and tried to help him breathe normally again. In all the commotion, Bellamy had spirited Charlotte away from the mob, Clarke and Finn quick to follow him.

"Where is she?" rasped Murphy, attempting to stand. Isobel shoved everyone else back and took his arm, helping him. "Where is that little bitch?" he demanded.

"Who?" Isobel frowned. "Clarke?"

"Charlotte," he coughed, hand going around his neck as though he were attempting to loosen a rope that was no longer there. "I nearly," he stopping, coughing again, and Isobel clutched his arm tighter.

"I know," she muttered, glaring around the crowd. "Let's go get some answers."

No one said anything else as they all moved back towards the camp, Isobel and Murphy leading the charge with Jasper and Octavia not far behind, everyone else hurrying behind with grim looks on their faces. When they arrived, there was no sign of Charlotte, or Bellamy, Clarke and Finn, but there were voices coming from Bellamy's tent.

"They're in there," Murphy half-growled, moving to go towards it, but Isobel held him back.

"No," she said, stepping in front of him and taking his wrist. "There's no way they're letting you in."

"I can't just let them hide her in there," he sneered, eyes narrowing down at her side.

"I'll talk to them," the redhead offered. "We can work this out," she added, walking towards the tent, favouring her right side as her left still hurt.

"You got hurt…" Murphy muttered, grabbing her hand as she let go of his wrist.

"I got kicked, yeah," Isobel frowned, not sure why he was mentioning this.

"No one's… You got hurt defending me," he explained. "You didn't blame me."

"It wasn't you."

"You couldn't've known that."

"I knew," she assured him, pulling her hand from his grip.

"Isobel, what're you gonna do?" asked Jasper, eyebrows pulled together in worry, while Octavia stared at her expectantly.

"I don't know yet," she sighed, walking towards the tent, favouring her right side as her left still hurt.

"I almost got killed for nothing," Murphy reminded her with a scowl. "It's just like The Ark."

"Then we'll make it different," she assured him, resting a hand on his arm. For a moment, they just stood, until Murphy drew back and Isobel turned, heading towards the tent. "Bellamy?" she called when she reached the entrance, and the flap was pulled open.

Bellamy stood, eyes wide and guilty and confused, as he glanced from Isobel to the crowd gathered a short ways behind her. The redhead glimpsed Charlotte stood inside the tent, Clarke and Finn in front of her, protecting the girl who killed Wells, and she had to force herself not to scream. Charlotte seemed shaken, her nerves only increasing when she saw who was at the tent opening.

"What're you doing here?" he asked her and she moved her glare from Charlotte to him. There was so much she wanted to say, but she knew most of it would be counter-productive, and so she bit her tongue.

"Not out here," she uttered, glancing back at the mob.

"You're with them?" he questioned, voice hard, and she scowled up at him.

"I'm not _against_ them," Isobel replied, "but I don't want to see this end in any more violence." Bellamy nodded, stepping aside to let her in. She slipped past him, glancing back once, but the crowd outside were obscured by Bellamy's frame.

"Stay away from her, Isobel," warned Clarke and Isobel scoffed, folding her arms as Bellamy closed up the tents and stood behind her, close enough for her to feel his body heat.

"I may have a shorter fuse these days, but I'm not going to hurt a kid," she insisted with a sneer as she stepped further into the tent, away from the man behind her. "Even if that kid is a murderous piece of scum."

"Hey," Bellamy scolded, holding her elbow to keep her away from the kid, successfully making her step away pointless. "Take it easy."

" _Don't_ touch me," she snapped at him, pulling her arm away with a snarl.

"I'm sorry," whimpered Charlotte, looking everywhere but at the redhead who everyone assumed was some kind of psycho killer herself. Isobel merely scowled at the child.

"That doesn't change anything," she said firmly. "Being sorry doesn't make you innocent, it just means your actions were unjust. Wallow in self-pity all you want – drown in it for all I care – but for the time being you need to grow up and stop snivelling."

"Isobel," Finn said warningly, and the redhead sighed.

"Crying about it won't fix it – won't make Murphy any less agitated," she told them, and they knew she was right. "We need to solve this," Isobel added, folding her arms but made no move to hurt the girl, so Clarke, Finn and Bellamy relaxed a little. "They're gonna be after blood, y'know. I might not want to hurt her, but Murphy? _You_ hung him for what _she_ did," she directed at Bellamy, who flinched a little.

"Bring out the girl, Bellamy!" roared Murphy from outside.

"See?"

"Why, Charlotte?" demanded Bellamy, walked past Isobel.

"I was just trying to slay my demons," she snivelled. "Like you told me."

"He told you to kill him?" asked Isobel, her voice barely above a whisper. She turned from Charlotte to Bellamy, eyes wide. "You told her to…?

"What the hell is she talking about?" demanded Clarke. Bellamy looked stunned before his guilt intensified.

"She misunderstood me," he explained to them before he turned back to the child. "Charlotte; that is not what I meant."

"What did you tell her?" the redhead continued, wondering what he could have said that would make Charlotte think killing a man was alright.

"She was afraid – having nightmares," he defended. "I told her to slay her demons when she was awake, so they couldn't get her in her sleep."

"Why would you say that?" she demanded, anger boiling through the sadness.

"I didn't think she'd take it so literally!" he yelled back. "Does it look like I'm happy about this?"

.: _"It looks like you're trying to get us all killed."_ :.

Isobel shook the voice sharply from her mind, but knew it would come back.

"Bring the girl out, now!" Murphy yelled, his anger increasing.

"Please don't let them hurt me," Charlotte begged and Isobel grit her teeth.

"If you guys have any bright ideas, speak up," Bellamy suggested to all present, only to be met with silence. He glared at Clarke, "Now you stay quiet."

"Those are _your_ boys out there," Finn spoke up to defend the blonde.

"This is not my fault!" Bellamy deflected. "If she had listened to me, those idiots would still be building the wall."

"Well, we can all see what happens when people listen to you!" snapped Isobel instantly. She wanted to regret it when Bellamy flinched, but all she could see was Wells, eyes lifeless and blood crusting at his throat, and Murphy, gasping for air and blindly scratching against the rope that was no longer around his neck.

The pair stared at each other, Bellamy full of guilt and wishing that this whole situation would just stop, while Isobel tried desperately not to snap at him again. She was angry, she was upset, and she was looking for someone to blame. Bellamy made a mistake – a lot of mistakes – but he hadn't done any of it out of malice, he was just trying to make life better for a little girl.

Dropping her glare, Isobel looked at him blankly for a moment before sighing and backing down. She didn't want to fight with him. Bellamy relaxed for a moment, before the sound of the crowd outside caused him to tense all over again.

"You want to build a society, princess?" mocked Murphy. Finn looked out of the tent, seeing the teen stood with the rest of their people at his back. "Let's build a society. Bring her out!"

"No!" cried Charlotte. "Please, Bellamy."

"Charlotte, hey," he crouched to soothe her. "It's gonna be okay. Just stay with them," he added, glancing up between Clarke and Finn. After reassuring the girl, he stood and left the tent, Isobel on his heels. He glanced back, seeing a head of red hair at his shoulder, and felt a stirring of hope that she was on his side, and not simply trying to block him from the tent.

"Well, well, well," smirked Murphy, leaving the mob to pace towards Bellamy, who remained by his tent with Isobel behind him. "Look who decided to join us."

"Dial it down and back off," Bellamy warned quickly. He stared Murphy in the eye, a pit growing in his stomach when his eyes flitted down and he saw the raw, bruised loop of skin around the other man's neck.

"Or what?" asked Murphy, squaring up to him. "What are you gonna do, Bellamy? Hang me?"

"Murphy," Isobel spoke, drawing his gaze. His eyes were hard and she sighed, knowing he had every right to be angry about what Bellamy did. Just because she had a childhood fondness dulling her anger, didn't mean Murphy did, too.

"I was just giving the people what they wanted," the older man told him, though the guilt in his eyes told a different story. As much as Isobel wanted to hate him, she didn't want to add to the shame he already felt for his actions. Clarke was right, he wasn't a killer, and he'd almost hung the wrong criminal.

"Yeah," Murphy nodded slowly. "Yeah that's a good idea. Why don't we do that right now?" he turned towards the crowd, speaking louder. "So, who here wants to see the real murderer hung up?" he asked, lifting his hand, but no one else joined him. "All in favour?" he attempted again, somewhat angrily, and the four hands of his crew shot up, but no others.

"Guys, don't do this," a voice from the crowd was heard above the muttering, the denial. Overall, though, no one wanted to see a little girl die.

"I see. So, it's okay to string me up for nothing, but when this little _bitch_ _confesses_ , you wanna let her walk?" he roared at them, pausing to give them a chance to join him, but no one did. He looked over at Isobel, who hadn't raised her hand, and shook his head. "Cowards! All of you are cowards!"

"Hey, Murphy!" shouted Bellamy, stopping him from attacking the crowd as he moved towards him. "Murphy, it's over," he said firmly. Murphy eyed him up, seeming to calm down. He glanced over Bellamy's shoulder to Isobel, who held his gaze and shook her head slightly, trying to tell him to let it go for now.

"Whatever you say, boss," he accepted. Bellamy nodded and turned to walk back into his tent, giving Murphy the chance to grab a piece of timber from their stockpile and smack it across the back of his head, knocking Bellamy out. Isobel darted forwards the check on him, finding blood on the back of his head, but he was breathing.

"Son of a bitch!" scream Octavia, moving to attack, but Jasper stepped in her way protectively. Not bothered in the slightest, Murphy downed him with a hard punch to the face.

"Leave him alone!" the redhead yelled, ready to run over and defend Jasper, but Murphy had already moved on.

"Come on," Murphy summoned his boys. "Let's get the girl."

"Don't," Isobel warned him, moving from Bellamy and blocking his way. Anyone else, Murphy would have shove them aside, but Isobel had gotten injured protecting him before, and he was hesitant to see her hurt again. "It won't end well," she frowned, grabbing his elbow when he moved to walk past her, speaking quietly to him. "Give it up. No one is gonna help you kill a little girl."

"I'm not gonna _kill_ her," Murphy scoffed, speaking at an equally low volume. "I just don't see why _I_ get strung up for something I didn't do, yet _she_ literally gets away with murder."

"When was life _ever_ fair?" the redhead contested and Murphy jerked his elbow away from her. "Please, just drop it."

"Can't," he grunted, looking down at her worried expression. "If you're not with me, then don't get involved."

"I thought you didn't want this place to be like The Ark," Isobel continued, frowning at him. "If you go after her, all you're gonna do is reinforce the need for violence as a solution. I'm guilty of it, too, but it shouldn't be that way."

"Wildcat, you need to move," he said, levelling her with a serious look and she sighed, looking at him pleadingly. He was unmoved.

"…Fine," Isobel agreed, stepping aside to allow him into the tent. Octavia looked at her as though the redhead had personally strapped Charlotte to a bonfire as she tended to Jasper. Ignoring the betrayed glare, Isobel crouched again to check on Bellamy.

"Charlotte!" roared Murphy when he ripped open the tent flap, only to find the girl gone, along with Clarke and Finn. "Charlotte, I know you can hear me, and when I find you, you are gonna pay! Move!" he ordered the boys around him, shoving them as he stormed off.

"Where did she go?" Mbege demanded, hauling Isobel up by her arm and causing her to wince as the pain in her side flared up. She wasn't surprised that he would go for any opportunity to get back at her for earlier.

"Why the hell would I know?" she spat at him, shoving him back and clutching her side. He tripped and landed on the ground, despite her not pushing him very hard. Snarling, clearly seeing this as his chance, Mbege got back to his feet with a small wood log in his hand.

"You were in there with them," he stated, even as Isobel kept her eyes warily on his makeshift weapon. Murphy turned, spotting the scene, and snarled.

"Lay off!" he demanded. Mbege ignored him, while Isobel scowled at the boy threatening her.

"Back away, now, or this is going to get ugly," she warned, moving towards him with the intention of passing him to check on Jasper, who was still clutching the side of his face where Murphy had punched him.

A sharp _thwack_ sounded in her ears, accompanied by a flash of pain in her skull, before she found herself face-first on the ground. Her eyes were heavy, her vision obscured by dark patches. Her mind supplied that Mbege had taken a leaf from Murphy's book and smacked her on the head with the log, but her whole body was screaming that it didn't care what happened, it just wanted sleep.

"What the hell!" she dully recognised Murphy's voice yelled, followed by the sound of his fist meeting flesh as he presumably punched Mbege for ignoring his orders. "Wildcat? Isobel!"

"Isobel!"

{-}

Isobel groaned as she came to, her head pounding and her eyes burning. She made a vague attempt to sit up, but couldn't get her body to obey.

"You never cried," a quiet, emotionless female voice cut through the silence. Still unable to will her eyes open, Isobel had no idea who it was speaking. "You just looked at him, lying there with his eyes still open, blood…b-blood e-everywhere, a-and you never c…cried."

It was Clarke.

Her voice was cracking, and weak, but the tone was accusing. Behind each word was previously unspoken spite, coming to the surface. Isobel didn't know if the blonde thought she was confessing to an unconscious body, or if she knew she was awake.

"I thought you were his friend," Clarke continued, clearing her through to remove the lump in it. "I thought, even though I was horrible to him and everyone else seemed to hate him, at least he had you. You, who he trusted and befriended, and who protected him. He told me about the times you stepped up for him, the times I wasn't there, and the times I should have, but I didn't."

There was an eerie quite around the tent they were in, for Isobel was sure it was a tent. It was as though no one existed but her and Clarke. The only sound was the blonde's words, steadily growing more venomous.

"I cried for days," she hissed. "I saw him…he was…he was gone, and I just broke down right there. You looked at him, just _looked_ , like he was something on display behind glass. Like it was nothing to do with you. Then you left, started sitting up on top of the drop shop with your _stupid_ pipe, watching everyone. You carried on like he never existed."

Anger began to build in Isobel's throat. Her eyes burned and her throat clenched in time with her fists as she forced her eyes to open, her body to move, and she sat facing Clarke. Their eyes met, both blue, one rimmed red with tears, the other unfocused as they stared through physical pain and into emotional.

"I cared," Isobel choked out, her throat closing around her words.

"You got in a fight," Clarke sneered. "You beat someone up because you were angry at him, for scaring Jasper, and you weren't exactly Miss Personality before, so you probably would have hit him anyway. Everything else? The hiding away, removing yourself? If you cared, you would have helped out more! You would have shown it! Instead, you just kept on keeping on."

"I couldn't be around all of you!" the redhead yelled, feeling her eyes sting and blaming the light. "Everyone else acted like it didn't matter. It was a catalyst, and nothing more!"

"Exactly how you were, then," the blonde scoffed, standing and turning her back as she folded her arms. "I shouldn't be surprised. You were probably locked up for being some kind of killer anyway, so what's one more death?"

No one spoke. Clarke was angry and grieving and pained and everything was coming out now because she had just watched yet another person – a _little girl_ – die. Isobel didn't know how to vocalise what was happening, not having much practice at it.

"What happened after I was knocked out?" she asked instead, not feeling ready to face everything she felt after seeing Wells on the ground.

"Murphy went after Charlotte," Clarke told her, voice still tight with anger. "He cornered her and Bellamy, and had a knife to my throat. She jumped off a cliff to save me. Murphy's banished," she said, giving her the shorter version of events. "Bellamy woke up a while ago and tried to save her, but Mbege must've hit you harder than Murphy hit him."

"Murphy didn't want anyone to get hurt," Isobel sighed. He was banished, left to fend for himself. Against the woods, against the weather, and against the Grounders. He wouldn't last long out there. She wondered if Bellamy would let her go look for him. If not…

"Of course you defend him," Clarke sniffed. "You two are so alike. Cold-blooded killers."

"Murphy didn't kills Wells," Isobel growled. "Charlotte did, and now she's dead."

"Not that you care," the blonde muttered, her head lowering and her folded arms tensing. Isobel stared at her back, feeling the stinging return to the corners of her eyes as her face heated and her throat burned.

"How dare you!" she shrieked, standing on shaky legs. "He was the first friend I had, and then he was gone! How dare you tell me I don't care! I couldn't _breathe_ when I saw him. I had to get away. I couldn't…He was…There was nothing in his eyes, and I couldn't handle it…"

Clarke whirled around when she heard Isobel choking on her words. Her eyes widened, seeing tears streaked down the other girl's reddening face as she screwed her eyes shut and shook with silent sobs, her mouth opening occasionally to gasp for breath. Isobel lifted her hand to her face and brushed her fingertips across it, eyes snapping open when she felt moisture.

When she saw her tears, she seemed to break.

Collapsing to her knees, Isobel wailed and wrapped her arms around herself, as though trying to keep herself together. Clarke stood, stunned, by the entrance to the tent, unsure what to do as her own tears trailed down her cheeks.

"Issy?" Octavia's voice cut through the sobs as the younger girl barged into the tent, taking in the scene of Isobel's loud grief and Clarke's silent shock. "What did you do?" she accused the blonde as she strode towards the redhead, dropping to her knees and wrapping her arms around her.

"N-Nothing, I…" Clarke couldn't find the words to defend herself as she watched Isobel cling to the brunette, her cries quieting as she buried her face in Octavia's shoulder. Words began forming through the tears, and Clarke's shock became guilt.

"I should have saved him," she wept. "I could have been there. I told him I would keep him safe. I failed him. He's dead because of me. I wasn't with him. I was…"

She was in the drop ship. The drop ship with the stupid graffiti still carved into the side of it.

 _FIRST SON, FIRST TO DYE_

 _.: "You spelled 'die' wrong, geniuses." :._

Another flood of sorrow consumed her, and she cried harder despite her aching head. His voice echoed in her ears – his anger, his amusement, his happiness, his fear. She could hear him. He would never have seen it coming. He always saw the best in people, in her. Why would he think the little girl coming to sit with him would end up jamming a knife into his jugular?

"No, it's not your fault," Octavia comforted. "You couldn't have known. There was nothing you could do."

Octavia was saying all the right things, comforting the redhead and quieting her cries. Clarke knew that this much pain must have been building inside Isobel for a while, that she must have been suffering alone, in silence. Clarke should have told her it was okay to cry, and instead she had condemned her for not doing so.

"I'm sorry," she breathed weakly, met only with Octavia's glare.

"You should go," the brunette advised strongly, and Clarke obeyed.

She turned quickly, wiping the tears from her face as she stepped out of the tent. Directly outside was Bellamy, Jasper, Monty, and Finn, all four standing anxiously, with their arms crossed, unintentionally mimicking each other as their eyes snapped from the tent to Clarke.

"What happened?" Monty asked worriedly, the first to speak.

"I…I'm not sure," Clarke admitted with a slight shrug. "I just…we were talking about…about Wells, and…"

"You didn't," Finn sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. "I told you not to."

"Not to what?" Bellamy questioned, his voice strong and angry as he stared Clarke down. "What did you say to her?"

"I thought…I thought she didn't care about Wells, about him dying," she confessed, feeling all four stares on her – anger, confusion, shock, and disappointment.

"Of course she did," Jasper muttered, his face crumpled with perplexity. "If you hadn't noticed, Issy isn't good with emotions. Hiding away was her way of coping."

"How would you know?" Clarke scoffed, going on the defensive.

"She was with me, Monty, and Octavia almost every day after that," Jasper reminded her. "She latched onto us whenever she wasn't up in her tree. Why do you think Octavia stormed in there? Or Monty and I are here right now? She's our friend, and we know that she's been hurting. She just deals with it differently, is all."

"How was I supposed to know that?" the blonde shot back, looking to Finn for support, but he only shook his head.

"You didn't need to know," Bellamy snapped. "You should have just left her alone. Whether she cared or not was none of your business."

"Oh, and it's yours?" she sneered. "What, is it that life debt that you owe her, or that she's nice to your sister? You never cared before!"

"You're not exactly the best judge of what people care about, now, are you?" he retorted, referencing the whimpering that was still escaping the tent.

Around them, the delinquents were quietly going about their work. The wall still needed to be built, and it was easier now without Murphy breathing down their necks. They had all thought that, when Bellamy and Clarke returned without the troublemaker, Isobel would fly into a rage and tear the place down. No one had predicted tears from, arguably, the toughest of them.

Still, it was comforting to know she was just another teenager, and not some kind of killing machine.

Inside the tent, Octavia rocked Isobel gently as the redhead's tears subsided and turned into silent shakes and the occasional hiccup. Still not letting go, not wanting to pull away from her friend when she was hurting, Octavia began to speak.

"Feel better?" she asked with a small smile, knowing it was better not to skirt around the issue with Isobel. The redhead choked on a small laugh, but nodded anyway and pulled back slightly.

"Everyone heard, huh?" Isobel rasped, face lowered in shame. Octavia reached out and pushed her hair behind her ears, wiping tears from her red-stained face.

"No one cares," she assured. "We all know loosing Wells was hard on you."

"Clarke didn't," the redhead snorted, feeling as though she should cry again, but no tears appeared. "She thought I was some unfeeling _thing_."

"She doesn't know you as well as I do," Octavia smiled, turning Isobel's face up towards her. Rather than the small, weak, but sarcastic smile she was expecting, Isobel's face was stone. The seriousness in her eyes almost caused the brunette to falter.

"She's not completely wrong," Isobel muttered, looking into Octavia's eyes.

"What do you mean?" frowned the brunette, not understanding.

"What I did to get locked up. It's bad."

The confession had been long-coming. No one knew, and Octavia hadn't thought that she might be the first to be told. A thousand possibilities ran through her mind – violence, theft, perhaps drugs? Murder was a fleeting thought, as Octavia didn't believe Isobel had it in her. Still, could have –

"I killed my father."


	9. Ages Past

Chapter Nine: Ages Past

"I was seven when my mother died. After that, it was just my father and me. He was…"

 _A young girl with auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail sat quietly on her bed, cautiously eyeing the man pacing in front of her. He clutched a bottle of clear liquid in his hand and his face scrunched in pain whenever he drank from it. She didn't know why he kept gulping it down if it hurt, but she kept her mouth shut._

 _Just like he told her. Keep your mouth shut. Just like he said._

 _The girl twisted her fingers together nervously, waiting for him to yell at her like he always did. Waiting for her mother to come through the door and replace the bottle with food rations. Waiting for something,_ _ **anything**_ _to happen._

 _Knocking at the door was unexpected, but welcome._

" _Who is it?!" her father yelled at the door, his pacing halting and his grip tightening._

" _Doctor Griffin."_

 _It was the calm, female voice of the nice doctor who helped Isobel with her cough last year. Who had her mother stay over in the white room that smelt like medicine. Who had the daughter with blonde hair who was looking at her sadly all day._

 _Her father stormed to the door and opened it hastily. So quickly that he forgot to hide the moonshine, which Doctor Griffin clearly noticed but said nothing about._

" _She's not with you."_

 _Isobel knew who he meant. His wife. Her mother. The absentee whose lack of presence was felt in the burning on Isobel's arms where her father had grabbed her in his anger. Her mother would have made sure Isobel knew not to eat any of her rations until her father had eaten his fill, even if that meant she had nothing._

" _I'm sorry."_

 _Pity. Shame. It would take Isobel years to realise these were the emotions she could not recognise in Doctor Griffin's tone. At the time, all she knew was that her father was angry and the doctor was sad._

 _She said a lot of words that Isobel didn't understand, and some that she was pretty sure her father didn't understand either. In the end, she left, and Isobel knew she would never see her mother again._

 _The lesson hit hard, but not as hard as her father beat her that night._

 _He made her drop out of school to keep the home while he worked. Isobel didn't know what he did for work, but he was gone early and came home late and she liked that she had hours in the day when she didn't have to worry about him getting angry at her._

 _Mrs Blake down the hall helped her a lot. She showed her the right way to sweep, and how to clean and fold laundry, and then how to repair the tears in hers and her father's worn-down clothes. Mrs Blake found some spare pink buttons once and kindly replaced some of boring ones on Isobel's cardigan with the fun, bright colours. Isobel made sure to hide it when her father was home. Mrs Blake's son was nice, too, and he had a pretty name. Bellamy. He was nice and handsome and he never yelled._

 _Whenever Bellamy walked her home and her father was there, he would take one look at Mrs Blake's son, who was taller and broader and younger, having hit an early growth spurt and stood almost fully grown at sixteen, and her father would be quiet. He never hurt her when Bellamy was there. When she told Mrs Blake that, Bellamy walked her home more often._

 _Isobel liked him a lot._

 _Years passed in a blur for Isobel after her mother died. Her days were spent cleaning her father's mess, preparing her father's meals, learning from Mrs Blake, and shyly and quietly admiring her son. Her evenings were pain – a new bruise here, a bleeding graze there. Once, there was glass. Dr Griffin was called for that one, and she was angry when she saw Isobel, but the little girl did as her father told her and kept her mouth shut._

" _Clumsy little brat," he would grumble. "Always tripping over everything. Breaks everything."_

 _She had never thought of herself as clumsy. She rarely fell, and Mrs Blake said she was very elegant with her stitches, especially for such a little girl._

 _Dr Griffin checked the cuts on her arm and asked her how it happened, and Isobel said she tripped. The doctor weighed her and measured her and asked if she was being fed, and Isobel said yes. She told her father that Isobel was severely underweight and very small for her age, and her father shrugged and said she was just a scrawny kid._

 _Before they left, Dr Griffin made sure Isobel knew were the medical section was and how to get there, though Isobel knew that already – Mrs Blake also always said how smart she was. Dr Griffin told her to call her Abbey, though her father told her to never call adults by their first name and so she was still Dr Griffin._

 _More time went on and Isobel got older, as people tend to do._

 _Gone was the seven-year-old girl who was used to being hit, but still felt betrayed every time her father beat her. That girl became the eight-year-old who helped sew the guards' uniforms and knew that dinner had to be ready by the time her father got home._

 _The nine-year-old who discovered that sleeping on top of her neatly made bed meant that she could be up and away from her father's wrath earlier._

 _The ten-year-old who flinched every time someone raised a hand, and learn that striking first was her only choice – just not with her father._

 _The eleven-year-old who was sick and tired of being hurt every day, and taught herself to move fast and hit hard. Who just wanted the pain to stop._

 _The twelve-year-old who found a way to do it._

 _Isobel knew now that her father worked for the janitorial staff. Every Monday he would help mop the cafeteria, on Tuesday it was medical – and a day of accusatory glances from Dr Griffin that made him nastier when he came home. Wednesday to Saturday, he cleaned hallways. Sometimes, though, he was called in for a 'special' job. He hated those jobs, because it always meant scrubbing the airlock of whatever urine, faeces, or vomit the terrified 'criminal' left behind._

 _All it took was one time._

 _One time, Isobel followed her father to work._

 _One time, she locked the doors after he had climbed inside._

 _One button, one horrified expression, one moment of peace, of freedom._

 _One guard to catch her._

{-}

Octavia sat, stunned, as she stared at nothing. Isobel's gaze was lowered to the floor, her fingers twisting nervously as she awaited judgement.

The girls had sat in the tent for what felt like hours, though in reality it was only a few minutes, and the sun had just started to fade below the horizon. Octavia listened as Isobel spoke, telling the story of her childhood, her crime, and her imprisonment.

Daring to look up at her friend – _was she still her friend?_ – Isobel caught the tears that had found their way into Octavia's eyes and down her cheeks. Silently, the brunette cried for the redhead's pain. Isobel was lost for words now, unsure of how to proceed. Octavia knew more about her now than anyone else.

"Please say something."

"Like what?" asked Octavia, her voice almost hollow as she turned, red-ringed eyes meeting Isobel's wary ones. "You…Your father…"

"I know," Isobel choked, feeling tears build behind her own eyes at the thought of Octavia hating her. "I killed him and I'm a terrible person."

"I remember you, y'know," Octavia mentioned for lack of a better response. "Never _met_ you, or saw you, but I remember your voice."

"You do?" the redhead frowned, half-curious and half-cautious, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I remember you talking to my mom," she continued. "You'd ask if the stitch you just finished was right and she'd ask where the new bruise was. Then, you'd both go quiet. I don't think she really knew how to help you. I didn't even understand the question, back then. I thought you had to be a really clumsy kid for her to ask that question every time you came over."

"You don't know what you're saying," sighed Isobel. "My mom –"

"Your mom got sick, she died, and your dad beat you."

It was blunt, it was true, and now it was out in the open.

"And I killed him," Isobel said after a long moment. "Who's the real monster?"

"Not you," the brunette insisted. "The monster is the man who beat his child for years, not the child who set herself free."

"By floating him!" snapped the older teen, her red-ringed eyes filling with tears.

"He deserved it!" Octavia shot back, matching Isobel's volume. "Now, stop. Stop blaming yourself for doing what should have been done the first time he hit you."

No one had ever made Isobel feel justified before. No one had wanted to hear about the years of abuse, the constant fear that he would strike too hard or too true and kill her. No one cared about the build-up, the reasons. All they cared about was the fact that a child had murdered her parent. She had given up hope of forgiveness or redemption.

Darting forwards, Isobel wrapped her arms around Octavia and held her tightly.

"Thank you," she whispered, eyes burning but dry after the tears she shed for Wells.

"Of course," Octavia soothed. "Now, we need to go outside, because when I came in there were four concerned boys hanging around out there."

"…How much do you think they heard?" Isobel asked hesitantly, embarrassed eyes darting to the tarp covered entrance as she released Octavia.

"Does it matter?" hummed the brunette with a shrug.

"Murphy knew," she stated. "He knew at least some of it, anyway. He seemed to think everyone else would shun me if they knew."

"Not likely," scoffed Octavia. "There are other murderers here, with worse reasons or no reason at all for why they did it. Even if they did care, even if everyone else turned against you, you've got me, and Jasper, and Monty. I'm pretty sure Finn would stick by you and, after what just happened, you could guilt Clarke into pretty much anything. Not to mention Bellamy."

"I doubt your brother would care either way," the redhead sighed, wincing as she ran a hand through her hair and hit the bump on her head. Despite her words, it hadn't escaped her attention that she was currently in Bellamy's tent.

"Please," the younger teen snorted. "He carried you in here pretty much as soon as he woke up. After what happened with Charlotte, he barely left your side. Wanted to be here when you woke up, but Clarke sent him for water or something."

"Why… What could he gain from that?"

"I think what Clarke said got to him," she said, receiving a questioning look from Isobel. "Y'know, about you being in love with him?" prompted the brunette, wincing when the redhead's entire frame jolted. "I knew, kinda," she admitted. "I mean, I knew you _liked_ him. I didn't say anything, though, I swear!"

"I believe you," sighed Isobel. "She probably guessed, same as you. I should have denied it."

"No way!" gasped Octavia. "Now he _knows_. It's up to him to make a move."

"I'm not sure I want him to," the redhead confided meekly. "The timing is _terrible_ , and being down here… It gives you time to re-evaluate, to reassess."

"So…you _don't_ like him?"

"I don't know," she corrected. "He used to be the only guy I knew. My dad pulled me out of school, and I only really left our quarters to go to your place. Up there, Bellamy was _it_. I saw other guys around, but I didn't know them."

"Now you do," nodded Octavia. "Like…Murphy?" she asked, hoping for an immediate and vehement denial. What she got instead was a shrug.

"What does it matter?" she continued. "He's banished. Clarke told me. How's Bellamy doing, after what happened?"

"Ask him," suggested Octavia. "I'll go get him."

With that, the brunette headed to the tent entrance and poked her head out, clearly summoning in whoever was stood outside waiting. She turned and walked back to Isobel, with Jasper, Monty, Finn, and Bellamy – holding a cup of water – trailing after her.

"How's your head?" asked Finn, wanting to end the uncomfortable silence before it could begin.

"Hurts a little," Isobel replied, reaching up to rub the bump, only to flinch her head away with a wince. "Okay, hurts a lot."

"Mbege is in the drop ship," Jasper informed her, causing her to look at him and gasp.

"Jasper, your face," she noticed, eyeing the bruising around his eye and cheek.

"I know it's gorgeous, but you have to stop staring, Issy," he joked, grinning slightly when he saw her eyes narrow.

"I forgot he punched you," she muttered. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, it's just a bit of bruising," he smiled. "You're the one we're all worried about."

"Because of my head, or because you're worried I'm going to go psycho on Mbege and get revenge?"

"The second one, definitely," nodded Monty, side-stepping when Octavia when to thump him on the arm. "Kidding! Your head, obviously. Well, not obviously – now that you mention it, it would probably be worrying if you dedicated the rest of your life to revenge."

"It's fine," the redhead smiled a little. "I kicked his ass, he knocked me out. We're even."

"Phew," he sighed, "Saves us from becoming side characters in a pointless 'revenge-genre' story."

"Side characters?" she gasped. "Monty, you would obviously be the brooding protagonist that all the girls fall for!"

"Dibs on dashing hero!" Jasper cut in quickly, dropping down on the bed so he was laying facing Isobel with raised eyebrows. "Damsel in distress?" he suggested, causing her to burst with laughter. The laugh subsided instantly when the action caused her head to throb, and she groaned.

"Guys, calm down!" Octavia cut in, pulling Jasper up by the arm. He stood between her and Finn, the latter of whom was looking more awkward by the second. "Mbege already knocked her out, stop making her headache worse."

"I should have banished him, too," grunted Bellamy, not looking at the redhead.

"I'm glad you didn't. Now I don't have to feel guilty anymore," she attempted another laugh, but it sounded weak and forced.

"Not that you had to anyway," Octavia inserted. "He deserved it."

"He deserved to be hit," nodded Isobel. "Not beaten unconscious."

"Says you," muttered the unconvinced brunette.

"It's done, it's over," Isobel insisted. "Hopefully, we can just call it quits now. I really don't have the energy for a feud."

"It'll be fine," Bellamy assured her. "I brought you some water," he added, holding out the cup to her. Isobel took it gratefully, sipping at it.

"I'm gonna go check on Clarke," said Finn, surprising no one. "Hope your head feels better."

"Me too," agreed the redhead as he left. When he was gone, Isobel looked towards Bellamy. "Clarke told me what happened. I'm sorry, I know you cared about her."

"I did," he nodded, pain creasing across his face for a moment. "It was her choice, though," he added, rubbing his face.

"What happened to you hand?" Isobel questioned, seeing the red, slightly scabbed knuckles on his right hand. He paused for a moment, as though debating telling her, before he sighed.

"Murphy," he grunted, just the mention of the teen's name enough for screams and little girls and cliffs to flash behind his eyes. "I guess I took a page out of your book."

"I can tell you from experience; imitating me is not a good plan," Isobel warned him, her tone joking but her expression serious. "How long have I been out?"

"About a day," Jasper supplied. "We were worried when you didn't wake up right after Bellamy did."

"Guess my skull isn't as thick," she said instantly, eyes widening when she realised what she'd just said. Octavia instantly laughed, Jasper and Monty not far behind, while Bellamy seemed just as stunned.

"Did you just…insult me?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. "One smack to the head and she thinks she can get away with anything," he grumbled good-naturedly, but inwardly he was relieved. It was leagues better than the near-silent-treatment she'd been giving him since they landed. He'd take insults over awkward avoidance any day, especially after what Clarke said.

"Guess so," she half-shrugged. "Expect more, if you stick around."

"Yeah, she kinda expresses friendship through scathing remarks and death threats, so…" Jasper trailed off, expertly avoiding the Isobel's swat at him.

"Is it dark out?" the redhead asked, disorientated from sleeping so long.

"Yeah," nodded Monty. "Sun went down a little while ago."

"Okay," she sighed, shifting and standing from the make-shift bed. The moment she moved, she noticed everyone jolt slightly, as though preparing to catch her if she fell. Isobel held back the eye-roll, and instead stretched her arms above her head, tilting her head from side to side to work out the tightness that had formed in her joints. Closing her eyes while she did it, she was the only one to miss Bellamy's eyes shoot to the slip of skin her raised shirt exposed.

"Feel better?" asked Octavia when she was done stretching. Isobel smiled and shrugged.

"Dull headache, some rib pain that was probably from falling and being kicked earlier. Nothing I can't handle," she assured. An hour ago, Octavia wouldn't have thought twice about the phrasing – now, all she could picture was a tiny, scared ten-year-old, cowering from every raised hand.

"You sure?" Jasper checked, instinctively rubbing at chest, where his scar sat under his shirt. "You took a pretty hard fall."

"I'm fine," she promised. "Just gonna go up and get some sleep."

"Up to the drop ship?" asked Monty. Isobel nodded, confirming.

"You can stay here tonight, if you want," Bellamy offered, studiously ignoring the looks that fell across Octavia, Jasper, and Monty's faces. "It's gotta be more comfortable than the top of the drop ship."

 _.: "What about sleeping under the stars?" :._

"I like it up there. Thanks, though," she smiled a little, turning to the others. "Now all of you stop looking at me as though I'm made of glass. I'm gonna go get some sleep – long day tomorrow."

"What're you doing?" asked Octavia, frowning. "Did you need any help?"

"No, I'll manage," she sighed, preparing herself for the backlash. "I'm going to go look for Murphy."

"No, not happening," sneered Bellamy. "He's banished."

"He's banished, in the woods, on his own, surrounded by grounders," she summed up quickly. Seeing that her point was not made, she continued, "Murphy knows the ins and outs of this place. He knows how many we are, the weak points in our defences, who our leaders our, the fact that our 'weapons' are really just scrap metal shaped into pointy objects. We can't let them get him."

"We can't bring him back," insisted the oldest, scowling at the ground. "He's _banished_."

"We'll figure that out later," the redhead said. "For now, I'm going to sleep off this headache, and then I'm going to go out and look for him."

"Are you sure you don't want help?" Octavia offered again. She didn't want to find Murphy, but she also didn't want to leave Isobel in the woods on her own – and a small part of her was desperate to leave camp again.

"I'll be fine," Isobel insisted, turning to the exit.

Leaving the tent, Isobel had to purposefully avoid meeting any of the eyes that swivelled to her. Curious, well-meaning, but prying eyes that she didn't want to face, much less offer explanation. A pair of sad blue eyes set in a guilty face, framed by wavy blonde hair, looked as though they were going to reach out, but Isobel glanced away and ignored Clarke, who turned to Finn instead.

She found the tall metal structure and began her climb, the cold sides of the ship now familiar as she automatically found the dents and grooves that she used as hand- and footholds. Pulling herself over the edge, Isobel looked down, seeing the camp once more going about its business. Monty was heading into the drop ship, with Clarke, Finn, Jasper, and Octavia following behind – progress with the wrist bands, she presumed. She looked upwards, at the sky, and sighed.

Isobel hoisted herself up the ladder, the final few rungs icy in the night air. She stepped onto the very top of the drop ship, the ship that had changed all their lives, and smiled slightly at the nest she'd made.

Climbing into her blankets and resting her head on the pillow – which was really just a jacket folded up to make it softer – Isobel turned over onto her back and looked up at the stars. They were so beautiful from this side, so unassuming, and it almost hurt to know that somewhere in the beauty of that space were the bodies of countless people floated over the past hundred years for sometimes minor crimes.

That she might have been one of them.

Closing her eyes against the thought, Isobel curled into her blankets, placing her hands under her pillow, and sighed.

 _.: "Sleep well." :._

"You, too," she whispered to the friend that was no longer there to hear it.


	10. Option One, Two, or Three

Chapter Ten: Option One, Two, or Three

Judging from the fact that she opened her eyes to stars, Isobel knew she hadn't been asleep very long. It took a moment for her to realise what had woken her, and her eyes widened further at seeing a pod burning through the sky. The whole came seemed to have noticed it, as the noise from below was that of curiosity and joy. For all of Bellamy's talk, these kids had missed their parents and others on The Ark more than they'd let on.

"Check it out!" voices from below gasped excitedly. Watching the decent from her vantage point, Isobel could see that the ship was rather small – more of a pod, really. Barely enough for one person, but a supply drop was a possibility. It would mean Monty was successful in his attempts at contact.

Quickly, the redhead scurried out of her nest and down the side of the dropship, already looking around the group for Monty, or Jasper – she'd take Clarke if it meant getting some answers. She spotted Octavia just as her boots hit the ground and began to push though the gathering teens to get to her.

"Bellamy, get out here!" Octavia yelled, glancing up at the falling pod as he stepped out from his tent. "There," she pointed.

"They're coming to help us," grinned one of Bellamy's boys – Jones, she thought his name was. He was shirtless, his dark chest displayed unabashedly despite the chill in the air, which the redhead thought must have been becoming something of a trend when she noticed that Bellamy was also without a top.

"Who do you think is in there?" asked Isobel when she joined them, standing between Octavia and Jones, and ignoring the two girls leaving Bellamy's tent wrapped up in blankets. Something about the sight rubbed her the wrong way, but she pushed the feeling aside as quickly as it came. It was none of her business what he did with his free time.

"Who cares?" scoffed Jones. "Now we can kick some grounder ass!"

"Please tell me they brought down some shampoo," sighed Roma, eyeing the pod longingly while everyone else cheered and laughed over their presumed reinforcements.

"That thing's tiny," she considered. "Not big enough for a lot of people – one, two at most. Could be supplies?"

"So, shampoo?" asked Bree, echoing the hope in Roma's previous statement.

"Idiot," muttered Jones, shaking his head. His comment was quiet, but just loud enough for Isobel to hear. She snorted, glancing at him, and he smirked back.

"Probably not," Octavia answered her slowly, catching on to Isobel's train of thought. "Maybe food, clothes, y'know; things we actually _need_."

"Weapons, if we're lucky," she sighed, frowning.

"You really think they care enough to arm us?" Jones snorted. "More likely to be a message from the chancellor."

"Yeah," the redhead agreed, rolling her eyes. "I can guess at what it'd say; if you could all take it upon yourselves to cuff each other to the dropship for easy arrests when we get there, we'd be awfully appreciative."

"Heck, why not an all out deathmatch?" he added, grinning down at her. "Only ten you of get to go free – battle it out."

"Are you two done?" asked Octavia, looking between them with an odd look, briefly glancing at her brother. The redhead shrugged, ignoring the look. "I'm just glad they're actually sending _something_."

"Why, though?" frowned Isobel. "Did Monty make contact?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. It would make the most sense – The Ark knowing they're alive and sending supplies to keep them until the rest of the people could follow.

"No," replied the brunette. "Fried the wristbands."

"So, they think we're all dead, on an uninhabitable planet," summarised Isobel, glancing back towards where the pod went. "Now this _really_ makes no sense."

"I'm gonna round everyone up," Octavia said with a nod, still excited at the thought of something from The Ark landing. She jogged away, the rest of the crowd chattering away about what they thought it was.

"So, you're the wildcat, then?" asked Jones before the redhead could follow her friend. She raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed at the statement.

" _One person_ called me that – it's not a name, or a title, and I don't much care for it," she informed him blankly. "I'm Isobel."

"Jones," he said, holding out a hand for her to shake. She took it, and he shook her hand gently before letting go.

"Just Jones?" she asked, tilting her head.

"For now," he shrugged. "Just Isobel?"

"For now," she shot back, smiling a little. "I wonder how far Octavia got rounding everyone up."

"I'll go check," he told her, half-turning. "You coming?"

"Nah," she replied, shaking her head. "Gonna check in with boss-man," the redhead told him, nodding towards the silent Blake brother.

"Alright," Jones half-grinned, fulling turning to follow after Octavia while Isobel moved towards Bellamy.

"Hey, what do _you_ think of all this?" she asked, noting that he had been very quiet so far. Glancing up at him, she saw look in the look of terror in his eyes, but he carefully schooled his expression when he noticed her.

"What?" he grunted, face falling into a sneer automatically. Isobel took a reflexive step back and shook her head. His sneer fell instantly, but she wasn't looking at him anymore.

"Forget it," she sighed, seeing Roma and Bree standing closer behind him now, both eyeing her – though Bree only seemed to be impatient to get back in the warm tent, while Roma was outright scowling. "I guess you're busy."

Before he could offer anything back, Isobel turned and headed into camp, directing her steps back to the dropship. Though now running on very little sleep, and a headwound that was just starting to announce itself again in the form of a dull headache, Isobel knew that this new development would require immediate action in some way or another. Whether that was going to the pod or working up defences against any grounders they may encounter who were going there themselves, everyone was going to be busy for the next few hours.

She still needed to hunt for Murphy, and this pod landing could be the perfect time. With the grounders distracted and heading towards the landing site, she could sneak the opposite direction, to the cliff where Bellamy banished him. The timing almost seemed too perfect, but Isobel knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

She could hear the leader behind her, mobilising people and barking orders, but she ignored him.

The side of the ship was still cold, and she shuddered as she began climbing the rungs up towards her nest. She could hear Octavia's voice below, telling people to tool up and be ready, with Jones echoing her to anyone who didn't listen immediately, and mentally agreed. Only, her objective wouldn't be the pod.

Grabbing her pipe, a small knife, and the jacket Wells had scavenged for her, Isobel made sure to wrap herself up warm and secure the weapons. She searched around a little before sighing and grabbing one of her blankets, tearing a thin strip from the edge. Using this, she gathered her hair into a quick braid, tying off the end.

Feeling slightly readier for wandering off into the night, Isobel began her decent from the top of the ship. When her boots hit the earth again, she took a deep breath to prepare herself. It was cold, it was dark, and she would be alone – only the thought of the grounders learning their weaknesses stopped her from abandoning the quest altogether.

She thought she might have glimpsed Finn over the heads of the other delinquents and thought for a moment about asking him to join her. While they didn't get along great, she trusted him to have her back, and he was much better at tracking than she was. Then again, they might need him to find that pod – not that the crash wasn't a beacon to the most novice of trackers, but Clarke would likely ask him to go with her when they left.

"Isobel!" called Octavia from behind her, jogging towards the redhead. "Good, you got your stuff," she breathed, nodding to the pipe. "We're just about ready to roll out."

"Actually, I'm not going," she told the brunette, who frowned at the statement.

"What're you talking about?" she asked. "You got your pipe, where else would you be –? No," she said as soon as she caught on.

"Octavia, I need to go!" the redhead insisted.

"Go?" frowned her friend. "Alone? It's still dark out."

"I know, but the cliff is the opposite direction from where the pod went. It's as safe as it'll ever be," she explained, seeing Octavia's eyes narrow.

"Safe? In the dark, in a place we still don't know well, with people out there who have already proven they want us dead?" she listed, crossing her arms. "Oh yeah, it's a real picnic. Not to mention, you're still injured! With a head wound!"

"You know what I meant," Isobel sighed. "I was going to see if I could get Finn to go with me, but he's better use to you guys in finding the pod. I know how to find the cliff from here – I'll be fine, and my head isn't even hurting right now."

"No," she denied firmly. "You are not going out there alone, in the dark, to search for someone Bellamy and Clarke banished. Are you insane?"

"Yes, but that might be the head wound."

"Not funny," she scoffed, grabbing Isobel by the wrist and dragging her towards Bellamy's tent. "You're coming with the rest of us, or you're staying here."

"You're not my mother," muttered Isobel, feeling more like a scolded child than she had in years.

"No," Octavia agreed, stopping and turning on her. "I'm your friend. I want you to be safe, not dead on the forest floor somewhere. Do you know what it would do to me, Jasper, and Monty if we lost you?"

"Don't guilt trip me," she hissed.

"It's what I'm best at," the brunette smirked, beginning walking again, still tugging Isobel after her. "Like hell I'm gonna stop."

"If it cleared the ridge, it's probably near the lake," they heard Jones say as they made their way inside Bellamy's tent.

"We should get moving," Octavia interrupted, nudging Isobel between her and Jones so she wouldn't think of sneaking off. He glanced down at her, offering a brief smile, before focusing again. "Everyone's ready."

"No one's going anywhere," decided Bellamy blankly, arms folded and frowning down at the map of the terrain. "Not while it's dark. It isn't safe," he added as explanation. Reasonable, and Isobel would agree, only she had seen his look of fear and knew he had ulterior motives. "We'll head out at first light. Pass the word."

His boys filed out, Jones the last to go. He winked down at Isobel as he passed her and she raised an eyebrow, going to trail after them. Octavia caught her arm before she could. The brunette stepped up in front of Bellamy before he could leave, too.

"Everyone for 100 miles saw this thing come down," she said, stating the obvious. "What if the grounders get to it first?" she asked. For a moment, he looked conflicted, and Octavia continued, "Bell, we should go _now_."

"I said we wait until sunrise," he finalised quietly, moving past the girls and out of the tent. Octavia sighed, frustrated, and followed after him. So frustrated, in fact, that she forgot to drag Isobel with her.

She stood for a moment, waiting until she knew Octavia was gone. When she heard steps outside the tent, she thought she must have waited too long and missed her chance, that Octavia had remembered and come back. Isobel relaxed marginally when she saw it was only Roma and Bree, presumably coming back for their clothes.

"Hey," she greeted them. "Don't mind me, I was just leaving."

"Were you here for Bellamy?" asked Bree, raising an eyebrow and adjusting the blanket around her slightly, pulling her hair out of it. The redhead watched her do this, wondering if Bellamy preferred blondes, but she shook off the thought; a glance at Roma corrected the thought, anyway, as she was brunette.

"Technically, I guess," she shrugged, feeling her braid slink back over her shoulder – maybe Bellamy didn't like redhead? She bit her cheek, ignoring her how line of thought. "I was with Octavia – just wanted to know what was going on with the pod. Sorry it took so long; must have been cold out there," she added, not intending offence, but just stating a fact. They were both wearing only sheets, after all.

"It's not warm, that's for sure," agreed Bree, moving around the redhead and towards the clothes Isobel assumed were hers. Roma remained still, scowling.

"I'll get out of your way," she said, holding nothing against the girls despite the ugly twisting in her stomach when she thought of them at Bellamy.

"Good," sneered Roma, looking down at the smaller teen.

"Okay, bye, then," Isobel said, not wanting to rise to the snotty tone. It seemed that Roma wasn't done, though, as she stepped in the way.

"Just so you know," she snarled, "you don't stand a chance with Bellamy."

"Consider me informed," she nodded. "I really have to go."

"He will never be interested in a violent little _runt_ like you," she continued, wanting a reaction and gritting her teeth when she didn't get one.

"Well, you would know," agreed Isobel, looking around Roma at the exit. "Now, I _really_ have to go. Move or I will move you," she warned. Rolling her eyes, Roma stepped out of the way, heading back towards the bed with Bree at her heels.

Outside the tent, Isobel paused. She glanced back, knowing that two attractive women were currently warming Bellamy's bed – two women he chose. She shook off the thought, exhaled sharply to try and remove the cold feeling that had settled in her chest.

"Nerves," she muttered to herself, looking out at the dark, foreboding forest on the other side of their wall. "It's just nerves. Bellamy can do want he wants – I don't care."

"We're leaving at first light," Jones informed Harper and Monroe as he made his way through the camp. They nodded and he looked up, spotting Isobel outside Bellamy's tent, staring into the forest. He grinned, heading towards her.

"Hey, man," Miller intercepted him. Jones turned to face him. "We moving out, or what?"

"No, going at first light," Jones correct. "Bellamy says it'll be safer."

"Can't argue with that," shrugged the other teen while Jones scoffed.

"Tell that to Bellamy's sister," he snorted. Shaking his head, Miller gave a brief nod before going to help spread the word.

Jones turned again, hoping to catch Isobel. When he looked over, she was gone.

{-}

It was darker in the trees, though she should have expected that. She could still hear the noise of voices from the camp, but they were growing fainter with each step. Soon, the only sounds were her breathing, the ground stirring under her feet, and the wind rustling through the trees. There was the occasional animal, mostly birds, but they were few and far between.

She was still some ways from the cliff, and she doubted Murphy would risk coming back towards camp. Despite this, Isobel began looking for any sign of disturbance, of people – even if it wasn't Murphy, it could still be grounders.

Her tracking skills were amateur at best, as she had been pulled out of school long before they began learning Earth Skills. Trying to remember what Finn had done and wishing all the while that she had asked him to come with her, she searched for broken twigs and footprints in the earth.

Luck was on her side – there have been no rain. Any tracks should still be apparent and not washed away. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be any tracks, regardless of the weather. She pressed on, not willing to give up so soon with so much at stake. Murphy knew too much, and from what she had seen, she wouldn't be surprised to know torture was well within the grounder's repertoire. Despite what Bellamy was feeding everyone, they were mostly defenceless, and Murphy knew that.

She knew their ex-guard leader would never reverse the banishment but wondered maybe if she could set Murphy up in one of the caves near camp. She could make sure he had food, and he would be close enough that their minimal defences might keep grounders away. In time, he could even return to camp, no hard done and no dangerous killers aware of how weak the delinquents were.

Isobel shook the plan from her head, knowing it was unlikely, but more so pointless if she never found Murphy.

The trek was proving to be further than she had anticipated, and every noise or movement set her on edge. The slightly hint of the wind rustling the leaves was enough to have her reaching for her pipe, and she wished that she had listened to Octavia – doing this alone at night was not just stupid, it was insane. Still, she pushed on, only hoping she lived long enough to allow her friend the chance to boast.

Her legs were starting to burn by the time she made it to the cliff. Predictably, Murphy was nowhere to be seen – honestly, she would have been a little disappointed if she had found him there, since that would have been the dumbest choice and she really expected better from him. She took in her surroundings, the kicked-up dirt and footprints leading everywhere, and realised that this would be a lot more difficult than she'd thought.

Wishing more than ever she'd enrolled Finn, Isobel looked around for any solo footprints leading away from the cliff. There was a group of prints leaving in the direction of camp – safe to assume they belonged to Bellamy and Clarke, and the people they led back. Smaller prints led to the cliff, and then didn't lead away again – Charlotte, her mind supplied. She looked away.

Worryingly, there were also three sets of prints leading to the cliff from the opposite direction of camp, and then back in that direction – two sets were deeper set, and then the third was between them, slightly elongated and scuffed, as though they were being dragged. A cold stone dropped in her stomach as her worst fears can to life.

Grounders had Murphy.

Swearing under her breath, she weighted up her options. Follow the tracks, risk her own capture and subsequent death, but also have the possibility of saving Murphy from the people who speared Jasper. Option two, go back to camp and admit defeat.

Moving closer to the cliff, Isobel glanced over the edge. She couldn't imagine having the courage – or desperation – to do what Charlotte did. Of course, the child had a heavy cloak of guilt dragging her down, too. Perhaps if cliffs had been available when she was Charlotte's age and had just killed her father, Isobel would have made the same choice. She couldn't imagine how it felt to know you were responsible for the death of a _good_ person.

Shaking her head – which she realised she was doing a lot recently to banish her own thoughts – Isobel groaned, rubbing the bump on her head tenderly. Another good point Octavia made; she shouldn't have gone to the forest alone, in the dark, with a _head wound_. It seemed she was just making one stupid decision after another.

Octavia would be beaming when she told her.

Isobel stood in the middle of the tracks, right where Charlotte stood, and tried to make her decision. To follow or to flee.

Good sense said flee, but no one had ever accused her of having that.

Nodding to herself, the redhead set off following what she presumed to be the grounder tracks. She hurried out of the clearing, hoping that the cover of the trees would somewhat take the edge of the paranoid feeling she had of being watched.

The sound of voice caused a pit for form in her stomach and she froze, not recognising the words spoken. Grounders? Out here?

Taking a few steps back, trying to keep as quiet as possible, Isobel hoped she could get back to the other side of the clearing without being noticed. It was a long trip to the camp from there, but there were no grounders. At least, none she noticed.

Stupid! If this was the way to their settlement, of course they were coming this way to go towards the pod landing!

Fear crept up her neck and she shook, wanting more than anything to go back in time and never leave the dropship again.

Option one, follow the tracks, was bust. She only hoped she'd survive long enough for option two.

A twig snapped behind her, too close to be one of the skittish animals still living in the woods, and she whirled around, pulling out her pipe and swinging. Her wrist was caught.

Option three; die right now.


	11. Option Four

Chapter Eleven: Option Four

The rough bark of the tree she was shoved into was digging into her back, and she could smell the earthy scent clinging to the rough fabric on the hand covering her mouth, the other hand pinning her wrists above her head. Her eyes had automatically closed when she was pulled further into the trees, and she daren't open them. She was shaking, she knew, and she wished she could will herself to stop, but she was so afraid.

She didn't want to die.

The gruff voices of the grounders grew closer, but their tones weren't violent or alert – it sounded more like when Jasper and Monty talked, only deeper and she understood even less of what they were saying. Somehow, the comparison gave her enough courage to open her eyes, though once she did she wasn't sure whether it was a good idea.

Holding her against the tree, the man was definitely a grounder, but he looked so…normal. His skin was darker than hers, and his head was shaved, though he had strip of cropped black hair in the centre of his head. He had dark eyes, almost black, which were streaked from his hairline to his cheeks with some kind of black paint or soot. Covering his mouth was a black bandana with what looked to be, terrifyingly, skeletal human hands sewn onto it. He was tall, too – easily taller than Bellamy, which meant way taller than her, which was made especially clear as he was currently hunched over her.

Meeting her eyes, the grounder tilted his head slightly. The other voices called out and he replied instantly, the suddenness of his voice causing her to jump slightly, her eyes flying closed again. He didn't move, but she could hear the footsteps of the others, and they were moving further away.

Swallowing hard, Isobel shakily opened her eyes again, blinking a few times to get rid of the glossiness that had gathered. She _would not cry_.

"Shh, shh," he said lowly – just to keep her quiet, or to actually soothe her, she didn't know. Slowly, he peeled his hand from her face, and Isobel took a wavering breathe. She didn't dare make a sound though. Who would even hear her, other than grounders?

For a moment, they just watched each other, his eyes darting over her face while she looked at the clothes he wore, surprised by how quiet he had managed to be in such bulky attire. Every inch of him seemed to be covered with straps, buckles, or pockets, though all of it was pulled together enough to keep any of the metal from clinking.

"Can you understand me?" she asked quietly, not quite willing to meet his eyes and looking at the base of his neck instead – it was a more comfortable eyeline for her, rather than craning her head up. "I-I know you speak another language, and I don't understand it, but… can you understand me? Us?"

He hesitated for a moment, and she thought he might respond, but instead he raised his hand again and picked up her braided hair. She tensed more, if that was even possible, as he twirled her hair between his fingers. Something seemed to click in his head and he took a step back, releasing her. She slumped against the tree for a second before pushing forwards, darting to the side of him and putting more distance between them. He still had her pipe gripped tightly in his hand, she realised as she scrambled for her knife.

Even as she held it in front of her, she knew it wouldn't do much good. He had so easily disarmed and trapped her, he was huge, and he had the advantage of her already being afraid of him. Her shaking hands were proof enough of that.

Fighting didn't seem to be his plan, however, as he tossed her pipe at her feet and raised his arm, pointing behind her. It took her a moment to realise he was pointing towards the dropship.

Not taking her eyes off him, Isobel ducked for her pipe, grabbing it and stepping back a few more steps, waiting for the trick. When he turned to follow the other grounders, she realised there wouldn't be one.

"I'm looking for my friend," she said before he could go. "His name is John Murphy – he was on the cliff last night."

The grounder had paused, head tilted. He was listening, but she still wasn't sure just how much he understood of what she was saying. The retreating footsteps had disappeared and she wasn't worried about them coming back. For now, it was just her and the bone-masked grounder.

"Please, if you know where he is…" she trailed off, unsure how effective begging would be. He still had his back to her – a bruise to her ego, as she didn't dare turn her back on him – but he hadn't moved to leave yet.

It was quiet when she stopped speaking, no animals, not even wind going through the trees. He turned fully towards her and she instinctively stepped back, screaming mentally at both her cowardice and the fact that she had again put her back to a tree, effectively trapping herself. No one she'd met before had been as intimidating as this grounder – with the exception of her father, but she had been a child then – and the grounder hadn't really done anything to earn her fear except exist.

He pointed again in the direction of the drop ship, and she thought he probably believed her to be a little directionally challenged. Taking a breath, she stepped forwards, shaking her head. He pointed again, a little firmer this time, also stepping forwards. When she still didn't move, he took the last three strides between them and grabbed her shoulders, roughly turning her in the direction he wanted her to go. The sudden spin did nothing but remind her that she had a head wound, and the dizziness when straight through her to her knees. She fell back a little, stumbling to regain her footing and accidentally leaning back into the grounder. He tightened his grip on her shoulders, steadying her.

When she went to pull away, admitting defeat and ready to return to the drop ship, he didn't let go. Instead, he turned her again – slower this time – and his eyes began roaming her form, looking for whatever had caused her faintness. To save time, Isobel just gestured to her head, hovering a hand over the bump at the back of it. His hand moved under her own so he could feel the wound. She winced when he pressed it slightly and tried to pull away again, but he seemed reluctant to let her go now he knew she was injured.

"I'm fine," she insisted, trying to move away again. Rather than simply hold her still, the grounder's face hardened and he pressed the wound, causing her to yelp and the edges of her vision to darken. "No, stop," she said weakly, grabbing his wrist and trying to yank his hand away. He moved, leaving her leaning against the tree as she blinked a few times, trying hopelessly to stop the headache she could already feel forming.

When he moved towards her this time, she grabbed her pipe and drove the point forwards. She didn't expect to make contact, so wasn't overly surprised when he dodged the weak jab and grabbed her weapon, yanking it from her grip. The sudden movement had her collapsing against the grounder's arm.

Breathing heavily and trying not to pass out, all the while wondering how her rescue mission had taken such a drastic turn, Isobel had little energy left in her to fight when the grounder lifted her over his shoulder. Blood rushed to her head as she was flipped upside down and her struggle was lost.

She was at the mercy of a grounder and her world was going dark.

{-}

Octavia couldn't remember the last time she was so furious.

All she had asked of her was to stay put. It wasn't a struggle, it wasn't an impossible task. Just stay; but, of course, she had been ignored. She knew it wasn't the worst thing to happen in her life – not even close – but the sheer, idiotic stubbornness her redheaded friend displayed regularly had finally worn down her already threadbare patience.

Injured, alone, and in the middle of the night, Isobel had left camp.

Annoyed, angry, and knowing she was likely hours behind, Octavia had gone after her.

It was a stupid mission to rescue the biggest jerk Octavia had ever met. Granted, she hadn't met a wide range of people in her life, but that was completely beside the point. John Murphy was thoroughly undeserving of Isobel's concern, of her loyalty.

Sure, the older girl had framed the issue as keeping what he knew away from the grounders, for the protection of their group, but Octavia knew better. For whatever strange, twisted reason, Murphy and Isobel seemed to have a bond. She wouldn't go so far as to call it friendship, and she doubted Isobel would either, but there was something between them that prompted a similar, though less ferocious, response in Isobel to when Murphy had tried to kill Jasper.

Hearing movement in the trees to her right caused Octavia to still, her heart pounding rapidly. Some faint part of her hoped it might be Isobel, but she knew how unlikely that was.

Luckily, the face she saw through the forest was just as familiar, just as safe.

Confused what he was doing out here when he had told everyone to stay in camp, the brunette found her anger at Isobel shifting. Isobel had an honest purpose in the forest, one she made no attempts to hide. Her brother had snuck out ahead of everyone else, and she doubted his intentions were quite so noble.

"Bellamy!" she called out, and he turned to see her manoeuvring towards him, just avoiding tripping on a root. "What are you doing?"

"Go back to camp," he told her immediately. He couldn't let her slow him down, not with this. He had to get there first. "It isn't safe."

"You lied to everyone," she accused angrily, rightly, as she came to a stop in front of him. "You lied to _me_ ," she added. He was running out of time, and he was beginning to panic. "You just want whatever's in that pod –"

"Just go home!" Bellamy yelled, shoving her away from him. He regretted it immediately but he couldn't take it back. If she was angry, she would leave. She wouldn't know.

"You always want to play the big brother, huh?" Octavia sneered, stepping towards him. "Well, guess what? Joke's on me – you're just a selfish dick."

"I did this for you," he shot back, anger and fear clouding his judgement. "To protect you. If The Ark finds out we're alive, they'll come down, and when they do…I'm dead."

"What did you do?" she asked, torn between anger and worry.

"I shot him," Bellamy confessed before he had time to really consider what he was saying, and who he was saying it to. "I shot Jaha."

"What?" Octavia whispered, her face falling in shock.

"I found out they were sending you to Earth. I couldn't let you go alone," he explained, his voice grave. "Someone came to me with a deal. Do this – kill him – and they'd get me on the dropship…and I did it."

"You killed the chancellor?" she questioned, hoping he would take it back, tell her it wasn't true.

"He floated our mother," Bellamy began, voice full of emotion which clearly showed on his face, but he had to let her think he did it for a reason he believed in, he couldn't let her know the truth – he was wracked with guilt and knew there was no excuse, but he would never take it back at the expense of losing his sister. "He locked you up. He deserved it."

"I didn't ask you to do that," the younger sibling said, shaking her head. Bellamy met her eyes, seeing the conflict in them, and reigned in his emotions. He stood straight, nodding.

"You're right," he accepted, baring the burden alone as he turned to complete the self-appointed mission he had left camp to do. "This is on me. Whatever they sent down, I'll take care of it."

"I didn't ask for any of this," she continued, turning and leaving. With his jaw clenched as tight as his fists, Bellamy watched her go but refused to go after her.

Her fury had been doused with heartbreak, but she was still angry. At Bellamy for lying; at Isobel for sneaking off; at whoever it was that offered her brother the chance to become a murderer.

She couldn't say how long she had wandered the forest, mind racing as her feet carried her back to camp. It wasn't that long, though, until she saw the sunlight appear from between the tree, so she must have been out longer than she realised before running into Bellamy. Thinking of her brother only made her anger return and she stomped a little as she moved through some particularly thick undergrowth.

The sound of twigs snapped and startled animals fleeing broke through her thoughts, striking her already busy mind with a shock of fear. Breaking into a run, she burst through the trees, quickly finding herself on a narrowing path with greenery too thick to run through on one side of her and a steep hill on the other.

Hearing more sounds behind her, Octavia made a choice and moved to go down the hill, only her foot caught on a rock. She felt wind rush to meet her, followed by several hard drops to the ground as she rolled down the incline, her head meeting a hard surface just before she reached the bottom.

Blearily, she made an attempt to move, but was only able to manage the smallest twitch in her fingers before she passed out.

{-}

In her time on Earth, there were only two occasions when Isobel had woken up without at least a breeze on her face. The first was when Jasper was injured and she'd spent the night in the drop ship. The second was in Bellamy's tent, after Mbege knocked her out.

Blearily, she opened her eyes, glancing around.

She was in a cave, or at least what looked like one. It was pretty bare; the only furnishing was a mat that she had been left on. Her head was pounding, and she knew she had the grounder to thank. Though still intimidating, she could help but apply the word 'stupid' to him now. Only a true idiot – or complete asshole – would press down on a fresh headwound like that.

In true 'speak of the devil and he shall appear' fashion, it seemed that her thoughts had summoned the moron himself. Pulling herself up so she was at least sitting, and ignoring the pulse it sent through her head, Isobel shot him a glare.

Unaffected, the grounder simply crouched a short distance from her, placing a handful of walnuts on the ground and pushing them slightly towards her. She appreciated that he didn't come too close, but also wasn't about to eat anything that he gave her.

Without taking her eyes off him, Isobel shifted and took stock of her injuries. At the same time, she felt her pipe dig into her leg slightly, and the familiar pressure of her dagger by her hip. He hadn't disarmed her – _idiot_ , her mind supplied, even as her pride groaned in protest.

He watched her, waiting for her to take the food, and she watch back, waiting for the moment he looked away so she could drive her weapon, pipe or dagger, into his neck. She steadied her breathing as much as possible, not willing to give away her murderous intentions. Still, he sat, watching, waiting, and it was making her twitch – she never held up well under this type of pressure.

Finally, he glanced away from her, to get something out of one of his many pockets, and she lunged, pulling free her dagger at the same time.

Swinging her arm, she drove the blade towards the vulnerable flesh of his throat, but he clearly wasn't as distracted as she had hoped. In retrospect, it was a stupid plan, and he was now disarming her for the third time since they had met.

Shoved back down onto the mat, her dagger and pipe removed and tossed carelessly behind him, Isobel watched the grounder carefully, wondering what he would do to her. By his heavy breathing she could tell he was angry – she certainly hadn't worn him out in that brief altercation. A grim sense of pride shot through her when she saw the thin line of blood on his neck, but she didn't have the time to gloat as he moved closer to her.

She yelped as he patted her down, hands moving everywhere, sparing no thought for gentleness or privacy as he checked to make sure she had no more weapons. It was smart, on his part, but thoroughly humiliating on hers as he physically moved her and flipped her to search her. Her only saving grace was that he didn't make any attempt to deepen his search past quick pats and surveying eyes.

When he was done, he stepped back, and she swallowed back the tears that had sprung forwards. He still noticed them and had the decency to look a little ashamed of himself. The look vanished when he reached up to swipe at the small wound she had left him.

"Whatever you're planning, just get it over with," she demanded, still not sure if he even understood her. His eyes narrowed and he took another step back, eyeing her warily as he again reached into his pocket.

She appreciated the extra caution, her pride bruised enough for one day – or had it been longer? When he held his hand out again, she found he was holding a small black book, and he began sifting through the pages, glancing up at her every now and then to make sure she hadn't planned another blitz attack.

Instead, Isobel was focusing on her injuries. She was pleasantly surprised when she realised that, aside from the linger headache from the grounder's intervention, her head was feeling a lot better. It made her wonder just how long she had been out, but she didn't question the results. She looked down at the walnuts for a moment before looking back up at him quickly.

This wasn't the first time in her life she'd had a head wound, and she knew she likely had a small concussion. The best remedy, according to Dr Griffin, was rest, some light exercise, and foods rich in anti-oxidants. She hadn't understood the last instruction, so the doctor had explained that Isobel needed to eat barley, grapes, tomatoes, and the like. With her limited food rations, she hadn't been able to follow that bit of advice, but she still remembered that walnuts had been on the list.

The unexpected, though reluctantly appreciated, medical knowledge and care had Isobel reaching for the food, the grounder watching her movements. Picking one up, she attempted to open the hard shell, but found that it was tougher than she had thought it would be. Sighing, he leant forwards and slid slightly closer to her, holding out his hand.

Isobel eyed him for a moment before relenting, dropping the walnut in his outstretched palm. With an ease she did not possess, the grounder closed his fist around the nut, successfully cracking the shell. The redhead pouted a little as she accepted it back, pushing through the broken shell to get to the nut inside.

As she ate, he took another walnut and repeated the process, placing it back on the floor for her. When she was done with her first one and picked up the second, he took a third, though this one he ate himself.

An odd lull fell over them, a misplaced calm that Isobel could only attribute to the strangeness of the situation. It made her twitch, anxious to get away. She was sure that this oddly nurturing behaviour was not being repeated with Murphy, and the sudden recall of her original mission had her sitting up straighter.

Anticipating her attack, as he always seemed to, the grounder did nothing but sigh and push her back down onto the ground, covering her mouth and nose with one hand while pushing against her collarbone with the other. The need for air grew as seconds passed, and she kicked and flailed to get free, but the grounder was unrelenting.

As she felt her head getting lighter, she found herself strangely glad that he had avoided her head injury this time.

{-}

The camp was busy, even more so than when they had started building the wall. It made it easy to forget that Octavia was clearly avoiding him.

He hadn't seen her since he had gotten back from the river, since he had helped Raven and Clarke organise the delinquents in getting some kind of signal set up to stop Jaha from killing more innocent people – flares. It wasn't going to be easy, they didn't have much time, and they would only have one shot.

When Octavia got angry at him on the dropship, she would simply turn her back and ignore him until he apologised or she got over it. Down here, she had a lot more space to stew. He'd looked for her around camp, but assumed she was probably wandering in the forest close by, likely in the small clearing she liked to go to that house hundreds of blue butterflies.

What made the situation more difficult was that Isobel seemed to be avoiding him, too. He didn't doubt Octavia had marched straight back to camp and told the redhead everything, that she had swayed the girl to her side. Then again, he had Isobel had always been on shaky terms at best – recent events aside, or even including them, he doubted she would _ever_ choose him over Octavia.

Or Monty, or Jasper, or maybe even Murphy.

At least he was confident she'd side with him over Clarke or Finn, though that brought little comfort.

Unbidden, the memory of Clarke declaring Isobel's 'love' for him sprang to his mind, or more accurately her lack of denial did. They hadn't really spoken since then, not just the two of them, not that they did that before, even back on The Ark, and it was playing on his mind. It got pushed aside by a lot of things – Charlotte, Murphy, now this with the radio – but it was always there, lingering. Sure, he found her attractive – she was fierce and smart, and also had just enough curves to draw the eyes – but after that initial glance-over, she had become a friend of Octavia's, and therefore off limits.

It didn't stop him from watching her, from narrowing his eyes when Wells or Murphy got too close. He may have dismissed the possibility, but that didn't mean he wanted someone else to get it. It was selfish and stupid, and it had driven him to sleep with several other girls around camp, but she was a frequent visitor in his thoughts even before Clarke's spontaneous announcement.

At first, he didn't even remember her, not until the day in the rain when she had smiled and he had seen a ghost of the scrawny redhead that used to hang around his mother. She'd grown a lot from the little kid he used to walk home from his quarters – at this insistence of his mother, at first, and then his own when he began noticing the frequent bruises. He knew the little red-haired girl had gone to the Skybox, and that her father was no longer around, but just assumed that the two had been caught in a crime together. It wasn't until her confession to Octavia, and his own eavesdropping, that he realised she had been the one to float him.

She was always such a good kid – polite, quiet, though a little solemn. Had things been different, he could see her and Octavia growing up close friends. He could barely wrap his head around her being a murderer, but then again, he'd seen the evidence of her father's crime, one he was never punished for officially. It was a twisted type of justice, but it was all she could do. Even now, she seemed to carry that same sense of right and wrong with her, not choosing friends over truth and standing up for _anyone_ who was being unfairly treated.

Isobel was something else, and he wasn't sure if he really believed that she had _any_ feelings for him beyond him being her friend's brother. She yelled at him enough to make him think she didn't like him much, but he couldn't deny that all those occasions were justified. On the other hand, she saved him from that panther – sparking the nickname 'Wildcat', though only Murphy really called her that.

A jolt went through him and he frowned, pausing in his work.

She had said she was going after Murphy, but would she…?

Last night had been chaos, everyone was in motion and anxious to move. He, himself, had left camp pretty swiftly, so he hadn't been able to keep track of everyone. She wouldn't have gone after him alone, in the middle of the night.

Octavia had been out there. He assumed initially that she had followed him, but she had come from a different direction. What if she had gone out looking for Isobel?

He shook the thoughts from his head.

No way was Isobel that stupid. Grounders would have been all over last night, she would have known that. Going out alone was suicide.

Still…

{-}

It was dark again when she opened her eyes, pain wracking her entire body when she tried to move. The edges of her vision were still hazy, and she knew it wouldn't be long before she would pass out again.

Looking around for anything she could use to signal her people, or any sign that she was close enough to drag herself to camp, Octavia found only dead grass, dirt, and a pair of thick boots.

Ice gripped her as she looked up, and the horrifying vision of a grounder crouched over her, slowly standing with bright flashing lights behind him, was the last thing she saw before her eyes rolled back again.


End file.
